Dark Duck 03: Love Forever After
by VAPX007
Summary: "So who is he?" Darkwing asked. "The suspect is Drake Mallard." Hooter replied. After so many years, his father's killer has finally struck again. Can Darkwing get to the killer, or will Grizlykoff get to Drake Mallard? The mystery has to take a back seat, because if Drake Mallard is dead, Darkwing Duck won't be solving any mysteries ... ever again.
1. Bunker

_Disclaimer: Disney owns Darkwing Duck, dead or alive. Or undead. I'm just borrowing him to play with._

_Disclaimer: I want to thank Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for _Sherlock Holmes _generally, _The Sign of Four _and _The Five Orange Pips _specifically_. _It was far from intentional to have incorporated such notions, but they do ring quite familiar as I reread this particular plot of mine. Now I could keep listing all the fantastic stories that I have experienced throughout my life that are permanently embedded in the workings of my brain, or I could just say a blanket thank you to all those fictional writers that have come before me, including other fanfiction writers__. You rock._

_A/N: This is only a work in progress theory on Drake's father. If you have a different opinion, I'd be fascinated to hear a bit of it, but this is how it is written in my continuum at the moment. _

_A/N: I find my theory plausible. Then again, I'm an Australian born Alpha Centaurian. I welcome any advice on any perceived plot holes and character gaps. _

_A/N: Also, I am aware that my writing uncannily resembles space debris. Despite my emotional attachment, I do appreciate any help to make it a bit more readable. After all, despite the constant argument with the program, I still use _Word_'s grammar checker before uploading. _

_A/N: Please review. I don't consider myself a terribly scary person. I'd love to hear any words of advice or opinions to help me make my stories more enjoyable to read. I promise I don't bite ... much._

* * *

**Prologue: Bunker**

* * *

His youngest child had just graduated from university last semester. The divorce from his wife went through last month. Curtis Mane, newly appointed executive officer for Mackerel & Co crossed his company paid, fully furnished single person apartment to look in the wardrobe mirror and undo his tie.

It had been decades since he'd been in his old home city, and now, after all the things that had happened in his life recently, here he was again in good old St Canard. Curtis was looking forward to another walk down those forgotten familiar streets. Perhaps he'd go down to the fair grounds near the docks? Or Grand Central Park; he knew those places wouldn't have changed much.  
"I wonder if the Silverlight lounge is still trading. Oh, hang on ..." His memory wasn't the best anymore. "Was the name of it actually Silverlight, or was that the singer? Oh, but that woman was an angel!" He sighed, a smile growing warm on his face as his memories resurfaced. "Was it ... Ellen? No, let me think ... Alana? Or something ... Eleanor? Eleanor? Yes, that was her name." He shook his head. "What a total knock out."

* * *

There was a knock on the door. Curtis went and opened it.

"Oh, hello!" He blinked, letting the dog in a trench coat in.  
"Curtis Mane. It's taken you a while to come back to St Canard. I read in the financial review about you taking over at Mackerel & Co. The stocks rose a third when the markets heard you were taking the executive role."

"Sure ... I'm sorry; my memory's starting to go these days. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know. I recognise you, but I can't even remember where from."  
The dog stared stonily at him.

"Well, do you remember Drake Mallard?"

* * *

Curtis swallowed, his eyes opening wide in shock, now he was remembering. "Oh, my god, you're Harris. That was thirty odd years ago!"  
"Yes, Mallard's not a name one can easily forget. Even after thirty years, one still remembers ... him."

"Er, how about a drink?" Curtis needed a drink, anyway.  
The dog was sullen. "I've waited for you."  
"Sorry, I've only got scotch." Curtis hurried across the room to the scotch bottle and poured two glasses. He held up the second one but the dog just stared grimly at him. He put it back down.

"Do you recall your mutiny at Ducklehoff? You were on Drake Mallard's side."

Curtis swallowed his scotch with shaking hands, put down the glass and straightened. "It wasn't mutiny, Harris. He relieved you of duty."  
"Oh, he made it sound like that: 'Belay that order, men. Stand down, soldier. You are relieved.' Those were the words he used when Mallard countermanded my orders on the field. You supported him. But really, that was just plain mutiny."  
"It wasn't mutiny; that charge was cleared at the inquiry!" Curtis argued, going red even now so long afterwards.

He took a breath to calm himself. "Harris, you can't still be angry about that incident, the inquiry has been over for twenty something years. I'm sure you've moved on with your life by now. I have."  
"I lost my career."  
"So did he! I did too. But I got over it. All Mallard did was his duty to protect the rest of us and the civilians. Don't blame Mallard because he took over the job that you couldn't handle."

"No, I didn't blame him for that."

The old dog pulled the gun out of his pocket. "I only executed him for his mutiny."


	2. Darkwing Duck

**Darkwing Duck**

* * *

"DW! That building's on fire!" Launchpad called over the roar of the engine, pointing.

Darkwing screeched their pursuit to a halt in front of the building. "Call the fire department, Launchpad!" He jumped off the motorcycle and raced into the building, his helmet still on his head.

* * *

Darkwing Duck reviewed the state of the building as he moved in, nearer toward the flames.

"Fire!" He rapped on the doors as he went. "Everybody get out!" He didn't know if there were people still in the apartments, but there was no way he was standing by to take that chance. Now he heard a scream, and he watched the building more closely as he came forwards. Once the support beams went, he would be history with the others.

He shouldered open the door, the fire had eaten through the side wall between the apartments, the room was ablaze, in the anterior room an infant lay, screaming in the cot. He undid his cape and bundled up the infant, looking around for the mother.

No time for two guesses, he glanced at the support beams before barreling through the increasing flames, holding the child protectively against him.

He knocked on the next few doors, just for his conscience's sake. "Fire!" Darkwing coughed. "Everybody get out!" He ran back up the corridor and down the fire exit.

* * *

Outside Darkwing headed to the less busy ambulance. He handed the child to an emergency worker and a female worker shoved an oxygen mask over his beak.

He pulled it away, "Is the mother out here?" He asked the worker, casting his eyes desperately around. "I didn't see her. I hope she wasn't in the other room." Although, he was unfortunately sure she had been.

"Mister. Why don't you do yourself a favour and just breathe?" The worker snapped at him, grabbing the plastic thing and shoving it over his beak again. "Of all the stupid things to do! Running into a burning building? You seem to think ..." A nervous spasm jolted through Darkwing on this unexpected rebuke.

He had never heard such an unbelievable insult in all his years of fighting crime. "It must be my overwhelming genetic compulsion to help people!" He said angrily, throwing the breathing mask back into the ambulance. "I can't imagine why you do your job, but helping people is a part of mine! It doesn't matter how danger..." He coughed. "How dangerous." He croaked.  
"You need to keep breathing through the oxygen mask."  
"Well, I guess I'm just too stupid to worry about that!" He snarked, "and besides which, with me gone you can go back to looking after someone else less stupid!"

* * *

Darkwing skulked off, looking for Launchpad.

"Launchpad!" He called out, "we still need to try to find Liquidator!" He turned around. "Oh, good, there you are, Launchpad." Launchpad was hurrying over from talking to the police officers.

"Do you think we can still catch him?" Launchpad asked his crime-fighting counterpart.  
"No, he's long gone." Darkwing headed towards the rat-catcher, feeling much calmer with his sidekick by his side. "I just wanted your company back." He started the engine. "Call me selfish, but I do like talking to someone who would actually miss me if I did go up in flames."

"Don't take it to heart, DW. I'm sure she didn't mean it that way."

"Oh, I'm fine." Darkwing said, because he wanted to believe it enough to make it true. "Sometimes I just feel like I don't get enough time to savour my victories before I get ripped to shreds yet again." He sighed, pulling up to the side of the road, the engine purring. "You better drive back to the bridge, Launchpad, I'm ..."

* * *

DW disappeared.

"Oh." Launchpad double blinked, and then climbed over from the sidecar. Launchpad twisted the grip and headed towards Darkwing Tower.

"He's never been like that before ..." Launchpad wracked his brain. Darkwing usually only took things personally if it had something to do with Gosalyn, or even Morgana. "They'd barely met and he was set on defending her: 'She's just misguided.' " Launchpad shook his head. "Nope, McQuack, you're up the creek without a canoe on this one."

* * *

Launchpad got back to the tower. Darkwing was sitting, watching the news channel.

"I have come to a conclusion, Launchpad."  
"Uh-oh." Launchpad fretted. "DW, without you, St Canard would be overrun with criminals and super villains. Remember that St Canard needs you, no mater how ungrateful they seem to be sometimes."

Darkwing smiled halfly. "Of course they do. I'm not about to quit."  
"Oh. Okay, so uh ... what's your conclusion?"  
Darkwing stood up. "My conclusion, Launchpad, is that I am not stupid."

Launchpad scratched his head. "Well, sure DW. I mean, not everybody can be a rocket scientist. And you can play the harmonica, that's pretty clever."  
Darkwing cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'm glad to see my many talents have captured someone's appreciation." He shook his head. "Anyway, that emergency worker was talking to me that way like I wasn't trained for fires. She wouldn't have said that if I had an emergency services uniform on like she did." He sighed. "She'd have treated me with respect. Instead, she just treated me the way she saw me. Just a clown in a cape."  
"That's silly. You're not a clown, DW."

With a flip DW jumped down from the platform, landing acrobatically on the floor below.

* * *

Launchpad followed him to his desk and DW handed him a book.

The picture on the cover in faded gold leaf was a helmet and two axes crossed behind it. He looked inside the cover. Written in it in a noticeable blue inky swirl were the words:

**Property of Drake Mallard**

"Wow, DW, I didn't know you trained to be a fire-fighter."

"That's my dad's manual, but I've read it and done a bit of practice too. Fire-fighter, musician, sketch artist, mime, detective, gym instructor ... and a couple more things that I thought might come in handy to do this job." He gestured to the tower around them.

"What job is that, DW?"

"The Midnight Mallard! Master of disguise, the terror that flaps in the night, striking fear into the hearts of evildoers. I am the nightmare that scary things have, because they know I'm out here waiting to get them." He swished his cape dramatically. "I'm tricky and at times underhanded, bold and indefatigable! I am Darkwing Duck!"

"Phew, that's a relief, DW."


	3. Scary Things

**Scary Things**

* * *

"Gee, DW, talking about scary things ..." Launchpad heard the fear in his own voice. He didn't want to think about this topic, but it haunted him, and it wasn't just nightmares. Well, maybe he'd had a few more than usual lately.

"What about those vampires you found? I mean; criminals are all sorts of people. Like salespeople and TV Network producers."  
Darkwing paused. "I dunno; the ones I've met don't seem particularly hostile. Actually, they're a bit ... too friendly, if anything." He wandered back and jumped up the ladder, switching the screen from news to surveillance.

Obviously Darkwing hadn't gotten to read the newspaper today. Launchpad picked up the Daily Gazette from the desk and followed his friend. Launchpad climbed back up the ladder and opened it up to page four. Darkwing took it and read the article.

"... Negaduck ... trial on hold as he ... the secure wing of ..." Darkwing jumped up "Audubon General ... Hospital? That's ludicrous!"

"You don't think he's still sick, DW?" Darkwing scrunched the newspaper up in his tightening grip.  
"Not for a second, Launchpad." Darkwing said in a slow, quietly aggressive tone. "If Negaduck was going to die from blood loss, he'd have done it by now." He sighed, easing up his muscles as he stood there. "At least we know where he is for the moment."  
"Sure, DW, let's just hope that 'Secure Wing' holds up to its name. And when he gets out of there, he has Rex Euston to deal with."

"Attorney Rex Euston? I haven't heard of him before. He's new?"  
"He used to work for the Duckberg justice department. He's real good. They say he can 'nail any case so long as the criminal has a heartbeat'."  
Darkwing gave a sideways look at Launchpad, as if he wasn't keen for that expression. "Well, in this case 'heartbeat' is the operative word. So long as Negaduck plays the sick angle and manages to keep that heart rate monitor on him, Euston can't get at him."

"I bet Euston's chomping at the bit waiting to get at him."

"Oh, gosh, Launchpad! Why didn't I think of that?" Darkwing sat straight up. "I'm not sure he even knows Negaduck's game." He turned to the keyboard and typed into the yellow pages directory and came up with Rex Euston's address. "I'll be back, Launchpad, you keep an eye on the surveillance." He switched channels back to surveillance again and checked his cell phone was working before putting it back in his pocket. Once again he flipped down off the platform and raced to the rat-catcher.

Launchpad settled himself into DW's chair, dutifully watching the screen, cell phone on hand.

* * *

Darkwing rapped on the door of the single story suburban dwelling. "Mr. Attorney?" With swiveling ears, the gangly dog peered suspiciously through the doorway at him. "Darkwing Duck here."  
Euston sniffed, then decided to let him in. "You're lucky, I only just got home from the office."  
Darkwing checked his watch. Midnight?

As Euston closed the door behind him, Darkwing took notice of the baseball bat in his hand.  
"I'm not the most popular guy." Rex Euston explained as he propped the bat back against the wall beside his coat rack. "I also disapprove of the use of guns in general, and never in private dwellings. A baseball bat, on the other hand, makes a nice satisfying clunk before they go down. It doesn't make a mess either."

He suddenly flicked the hallway light on. Darkwing cringed, blinking rapidly.  
"Can I get you a cup of tea?"  
"Uh, sure, thanks."

Darkwing gazed around the place as Euston began turning lights on as he went. The state lawyer's home was too tidy. Unhomely. There was a distinctly modern up market feel to what furniture there was. It was all new and shiny too. Darkwing looked but there weren't any fancy lamps anywhere. Of course he didn't have them himself in his home; they wouldn't stand a chance with Gosalyn around. "You don't have a family, Mr. Attorney?"  
"Well, no. I haven't found the right one yet. Not like you have." Euston made the odd comment at Darkwing. He surely must have done a lot of background work on Darkwing to know about Morgana.

He handed him a cup of tea.  
"Uh, do you have any milk?"  
"Oh, darn, uh, sorry, Darkwing. I ... don't drink milk."  
"That's okay." Darkwing was getting used to Morgana's herbal concoctions, and black tea wasn't too far off from that. It was one more thing that Morgana insisted that was supposed to be 'good' for him.

"So, I'm guessing this visit is about one of my cases."  
"Yes sir. It's about Negaduck."  
Euston growled. "It's daft; Negaduck isn't the sort to get sick."  
"No, he's not sick. But to be fair; he did get injured."

Rex Euston sat down at the kitchen table, inviting Darkwing to join him. The table was solid wood and had a perfect shine; devoid of scuff marks. But there wasn't a single coaster in sight to keep it that way. "I'm trying to put this guy away, and only now you decide ..."  
"Now is the time I thought of it!" Darkwing interrupted.  
"So, what happened?"  
"He ... lost a lot of blood."  
"How?"  
"Believe it or not, but it was a vampire."  
"Heck, no." Euston sat back, disgruntled. He was not in the least bit surprised by the idea of vampires. "So now he's playing the anaemic duck? Ludicrous."

"Mr. Attorney, you might not get a chance to prosecute him. He'll get fed up of the hospital and leave in a hurricane of destruction. That's pretty much his MO wherever he goes."  
"Well, maybe not. It's pretty cushy in there and security at the Audubon is double tight on manpower."

Darkwing shrugged and picked up his cup again. "You obviously haven't met Negaduck yet, Mr. Attorney."

* * *

"Darkwing, don't you get sick of re-catching them all the time? Doesn't it bug you? To tell you truthfully what I think: I think they're making a laughing stock of our justice system."  
"That's why they're called super villains." Darkwing defended. "Megavolt has his own private hotline with security systems. Bushroot slips through the bars, Liquidator slips through the pipes. Most crimes come with a limited amount of jail time, anyway."

"Well, those cages have improved a bit since the 1800s but still I feel the concept itself is a bit suboptimal. Sometimes I think Martial Law really is a better way of handling things ... What do you think of rehabilitation, Darkwing?"  
"I ... rehabilitation? Well ... maybe there's some cases that ... I admit ..." Darkwing stumbled. The concept was still new to his brain even though he'd been dating Morgana for a few months now. "Not every criminal stays a criminal."  
"Now right there is the ultimate concept for the optimal solution. They just stop doing it." Euston took a sip of his drink.

"I can see the advantages that a person would have in your position." Euston leaned back from the table, gazing at Darkwing. "Pity."  
Darkwing blinked. "... I beg your pardon?"  
"I was just thinking; if I had your job, all the things I could do." Euston stood up.  
"You might be surprised to find it a bit harder than you think." Darkwing frowned at him, getting to his feet as well. "It's not as easy as swinging a bat."

"No, of course not! It's just a fancy. I couldn't really do your job; I'd lose control if I had to deal with the things you have to. I just meant that you have the grass roots opportunity to be proactive."  
"It's a dangerous job that doesn't usually afford the time or the convenience to indulge in fanciful notions." Darkwing stepped towards the door. "Goodnight, Mr. Attorney. Thanks for the tea."

"I'll pen him the next time you bring him in, I guess. And I'd appreciate any more information you might have for me on any more cases. I'm usually up till late anyway, so drop in whenever."  
"I'll keep you advised, sir."

The door closed and Darkwing headed down the pathway. The houselights went off and their glow on the grass disappeared. He got to the rat-catcher and turned back to the house. "I don't think I should tell Launchpad about this one. He's already a bit too worried about vampires as it is."


	4. The Contract

_A/N: I am open to debate on any of my historical extrapolations on the origins of Darkwing Duck. _

_A/N: I have done a lot of work to get ALL my posted chapters as worthy of third party reading as I am able. I assure you that the attention I have given _Darkwing Duck _over the last 6+ months is copious. _

_

* * *

_

**The Contract**

* * *

At S.H.U.S.H. headquarters Hooter sat at his desk, calmly watching as Grizlykoff paced a wide circle in his office.

"I am the terror that ..."  
"Zo, it is Darkvink Duck at last."  
"... Agent Grizlykoff, if you don't mind ..." Darkwing replied in an annoyed voice. "I am the terror that flaps in the night."  
"Yah, we is knowink this! Stop wastink time!"

Somewhat disconcerted, Darkwing appeared out of the vapour cloud and let his black and grey cape fall back to his sides. He advanced on Grizlykoff, charged and ready to take on whatever the bear had for him. "For your information it is not a waste of time! Not even half as much as your paperwork is!"  
"Hello, Darkwing." Hooter interrupted in his usual friendly tone. Darkwing backed off from the growling Grizlykoff and faced the impervious S.H.U.S.H. director. "Are you using a different smoke cartridge? Didn't it use to be blue smoke?"  
"I'm just doing my bit for the environment." Darkwing ad-libbed and stepped towards the desk.

"You said it was urgent, chief?"  
"Yes, we're having a bit of trouble with our investigation into a homicide."  
"That's no problem, for this master of mystery!" Darkwing announced confidently. "I'll find ..."  
"Already is we knowink ze suspect, yah!" Grizlykoff interrupted yet again before Darkwing could speak any more words of alliteration. "The matter only is we have not enough evidence that we can incinerate him."  
"Uh, don't you mean incarcerate him?" Darkwing had a nervous twinge in his chest. When it came to Grizlykoff, either word was probably appropriate. "So who is he?" Darkwing looked back at Hooter, sitting forever calm in his office chair.

"The suspect is Drake Mallard."

* * *

There was a split second delay as internally Darkwing fought back his shock, reassessing the predicament he was in. "... Okay, that's quite a long list to go through," he applied the same aloofness that came with the Darkwing persona; "why him?"

Hooter handed a manila file to Darkwing and he glanced in at the first page.

**Drake Mallard, Senior**

**Case status: cold**

**Case status: reopened**

"I don't do cold cases, sir." He put the file back on the table. Then he glanced at Grizlykoff. "Actually, I didn't think S.H.U.S.H. handled cold cases either. Why are you reopening the case on someone who died so many years ago?"

"Are you familiar with the facts in that case?"  
"I remember reading something about it when I was a teenager." Darkwing crossed his arms. "Twenty years is a long time."  
"It was the mysterious death of a firefighter with an outstanding reputation as an able-bodied, sound of mind and quick thinking individual."  
Darkwing felt a private swell of pride.

"We've reopened the case because there's been another homicide that's identical to that one." Darkwing's mind turned back to being attentive.  
"You mean the fire on Playhouse Avenue? Are you suggesting someone used the cover of a fire to hide another murder? Was this one a firefighter too?" Darkwing hadn't seen anyone suspicious when he went in there. They must have already left.  
"No; the victim is Curtis Mane. Are you familiar with this person?"

Darkwing checked his memory. "He's the new executive officer of Mackerel & Co, isn't he?" Unfortunately that was all Darkwing knew, because his pristine memory only went back as far as his friendship with Elmo Sputterspark. Before that it was incredibly blotchy; Darkwing was flat out remembering Drake Mallard Senior's face, let alone any of his friends.

"It might also interest you to know that Curtis Mane attended Drake Mallard Senior's funeral. Other than the original killer, only one other person could know the two victims, the specific details of the crime and who has the potential capability for committing such an act."  
"You mean the boy in the photograph?" Darkwing scowled. "Not even Megavolt has such loose connections. Where's the motive? What about the cannery guy's people?"  
"He only just moved back to St Canard. He left his ex-wife three states away. He didn't have a chance to make any new friends or enemies before he was killed."  
"Well, when you put it like that, it does seem likely to be a twenty year vendetta." Darkwing admitted.

"Sir, zis is a waste of time. I can handle zis assignment. We do not need zis ... Duck."  
"Until we have more solid evidence to offer the Attorney's office, your theory is just that. I think a little discretion is in order, agent Grizlykoff."  
"Sir! A clown costume I do not think is discretion!"  
Darkwing tsked, folding his arms. The Midnight Mallard was an act well polished and this was the enemy right here and now. "We all know how you deal with your suspects, Grizlykoff. You're like a natural disaster. It doesn't matter to you whether they're innocent or not."  
"Steady on, Darkwing. Agent Grizlykoff just follows procedures. We're all on the same side after all."

* * *

"Drake Mallard Junior is the only suspect we have found."  
Darkwing opened out the file on the table, spreading out the photographs, including the picture of the Mallard family; the mother, the father and the son together for the last time before the camera. So this was where that photo had disappeared to.

"Do you realise you're proposing a six year old killed his own father by firing a gun with perfect accuracy at the back of his head from four metres away and from what would be an elevated position for him and then he covered it up by burning down a three storey apartment block miles away from his own home?"  
"No, but we do think Mallard may have copycatted the original crime."  
"He is a clearly unstable individual." Grizlykoff interjected. "All evidence shows this."

"It doesn't mention here any pyromaniacal tendencies in the child psychologist's report."  
"No. We think he may have done it in revenge on the first killer."  
That was too much. "Revenge?" Darkwing repeated, dismayed. "Sir, surely you can see this is a daisy chain theory?"  
"It's the only theory we have to go on at the moment. That's why we've brought you in. You're not the only one unconvinced. Rex Euston wasn't either."  
"Oh, I bet." Darkwing wasn't relieved, however, as he stood beside Grizlykoff who was nearly foaming at the bit on this inconvenient turnout for his one and only suspect.

"How could Mallard possibly have found the killer, when all the kings and horses of St Canard couldn't?"  
"Drake Mallard Junior is a disturbed and troubled individual. Before he was even eight years old he stormed out of a counseling session and refused to return for any more visits. There's basically no telling to what lengths a mind this deviant may go to achieve what he wants." Hooter lifted another file from his stack beside him on the table and began rifling through it. He began quoting off a page. " 'An aggressive temperament combined with a hair-trigger over-reactive response to minor infractions.' "  
"It sounds like you've already had him in for questioning. Where'd that report come from?"  
"That was his entrance exam to St Canard police academy about nine years ago." Hooter put the son's file down on top of the father's one. He opened the file to the psychology report page for Darkwing to look at.

* * *

Darkwing stared at his alter ego's file sitting there in front of Hooter in total dismay. It was just as if he'd walked in on his own autopsy.

"Did Mallard get in to the academy with those results?"  
"Nein, he most certainly did not!" Grizlykoff was appalled at even the suggestion. "A person like that is a criminal in ze makink."  
Darkwing glared at the bear agent. "Good, then he'll have a long list of felonious activities for the last ten years and it'll be easy to bring him in under the cover of some other legitimate charge." He rubbed his hands together as if to clean them of the case. "Another destructive force taken off the street; well done."  
Hooter cleared his throat.

"Mallard's been on the St Canard voting roll for only the last two years and there's only one incident on his record. He was cleared of that when you presented evidence of Bushroot's money counterfeiting trees. Besides, it may well have taken him twenty years to find his father's killer. A person who's after revenge doesn't have to be out there committing other crimes. He might have been waiting for his opportunity to strike."  
"You are talking about a six year old child."  
"He iz not beink zix any more." Grizlykoff countered. "He iz tventy zix."

Darkwing flicked to the next page in his alter ego's file and gazed down at the dismal test scores from his graduate year. He knew they'd be here too. "Grizz, even you must have trouble believing a student who scrape-passed high school could locate someone twenty years after the highly trained and qualified police detective force of St Canard from-which-he-was-denied-entrance-to gave up?"  
"If mind is focus, anything can do."  
Darkwing gaped at Grizlykoff in disbelief. That was the single most intelligent thing the agent had ever said around Darkwing and he was intent to bury Darkwing's alter ego with it? "According to this EQ report, Mallard's emotional turmoil wouldn't let him focus his mind through a six lane tunnel." He closed the file.

"Exactly; he's just the sort of person who might end up killing someone." To Darkwing's private horror, Hooter continued to support Grizlykoff's argument.  
Darkwing frowned, casting his eyes away. "Persecution and witch hunting is what turned three of the Fearsome Five into criminals in the first place. Nine years later, and Elmo Sputterspark's still taking revenge on society. I don't know about you, but I think that it's bad enough out there with a Fearsome Five. I don't want to be responsible for creating a Sadistic Six."

"But that's entirely the reason why we've requested you to look into this matter. The fact of the matter is that we don't have any more leads and the one that we have is not substantial enough as both you and Attorney Euston have pointed out."  
"I'll certainly look into it." Darkwing picked up the three case files: Curtis Mane, Drake Mallard Junior and Senior and tucked them into his breast pocket.  
"Darkwing, skeptical as you may be on the idea, be careful around Drake Mallard. No one knows what a person like that is capable of, and the reports in that file are nine years out of date."

"That's one fact you don't have to remind me of, chief." He picked up the edge of his cape and disapparated.


	5. Reconstruct the Crime

_A/N: I think two people out there may be interested to see what happens in this story..._

_A/N: I make no apologies..._

_A/N: I always work hard to be as accurate as possible with regards to my character portrayals. That said no two people view the world - or other people for that matter - in the same way. _

_A/N: Oh, and for those of you who are like Gosalyn and are looking out for yet another good black and white horror movie to watch, try _The Atomic Brain_. I don't want to spoil it for you, so I'll just promise you that there's no vampires in this one._

* * *

**Reconstruct the Crime**

* * *

Darkwing dropped the papers on the table back at Darkwing tower. He skimmed through the Curtis Mane folder and then put his gas gun on top of the three folders.

Darkwing felt suffocated. "I need air."

He went and sat out on the ledge of the tower, feeling the fresh night breeze ruffling his feathers. "I've never had this problem before." He drew his knees up, gazing out on the familiar comforting panoramic view of the city lights.

Darkwing looked up at his friend as the air ace came out and sat beside him.  
"What happened, DW? You wanna let your ol' buddy in on it?"  
"I'm in trouble, Launchpad. S.H.U.S.H thinks Drake Mallard started that fire." Darkwing said in as conversational a voice as he could muster.  
"Oh, no way, DW. There were about ten people who saw you run in after the fire had started."  
"That was Darkwing Duck, not Drake Mallard. That only proves my innocence to you, Launchpad." Darkwing sighed.  
"Oh, yeah." Launchpad looked away.

"If they dig deep enough, beneath Drake Mallard they'll find Darkwing Duck. All they need is time, or worse. If S.H.U.S.H. gets enough circumstantial evidence for Euston to sign that warrant, that's when they'll find my wages come from S.H.U.S.H. contracts."  
"Well, it can't be all that bad." Launchpad shrugged. "So they find out your real name and then they'll know you didn't do it."

"That would be a catastrophe, Launchpad!" Darkwing quacked.

"I'm sorry, LP. It's just ... the reason I only work contracts for them is because I want to be able to make my own decisions. I didn't want someone like Grizlykoff with that kind of power over me."  
"I bet if Grizlykoff had a chance he'd decommission you to a boneyard."  
Darkwing raised an eyebrow. "Well, now I'm a suspect. Does that sound like that chance, Launchpad?"  
"Yep." The air ace nodded simply.  
Darkwing stared at him for a moment. "Great, well, at least we're flying in the same air space." He commented in some disappointment.

* * *

"I heard Vanuatu is a nice place. Lots of people retire there."  
"I don't want to retire, Launchpad! Anyway, that'd be too obvious."  
"DW, y'can't ... S.H.U.S.H. is a government organisation." Launchpad was worried. "There's no big cloudbank to hide behind. And while Grizlykoff is on your tail... well, that's worse than flying with your landing gear down. You might never get to find out who really did start the fire."

"Cloudbank? Cloud ... bank, yes, of course! Hamil Corp! Launchpad you're a genius! Why didn't I think of that?"

"DW, wait!" Launchpad squawked as Darkwing jumped to a stand. "You actually wanna ask the vampires to help you? That's no better than S.H.U.S.H.; vampires don't fool around. Once they've got you that's it." He held his hands protectively around his throat thinking about it. "No fooling; one day they might get hungry and ... that'll be it for you."  
"That's only 'one day', Launchpad, and it might never happen. Right now I'm facing a pretty certain death in the very short space of the next few days. I have to sign over to Hamil Corp." He took a breath. 'That might not be enough, but it's a start.' "I can only give it a shot. Before Grizz shoots me." He was quiet for a moment.

"While I deal with this, Launchpad, could you play decoy for me?"  
"Can do, DW. I'll just get changed."  
"Thanks."  
Launchpad went back in through the window.

"Revenge! The very idea." Darkwing felt complete disgust. "But I didn't do it. And if I didn't do it that means someone else did it. What if it was the same person? That means I really am looking for a person that is around fifty years old; someone who knew both my father and Curtis Mane. Curtis Mane may even be the missing clue." He hesitated. "I'm still in trouble. Grizlykoff isn't going to wait around for me to pick up the track of this person. He'll just as likely set fire to me."

He stepped back through the window and down into the tower. Once again the answer seemed to turn to the world organisation of vampires. 'Think positively', he directed to himself. 'These people are years ahead of S.H.U.S.H. when it comes to research.'

He approached the rat-catcher. The motorcycle gleamed, shiny, polished and ready for action. He shut his eyes summoning his courage as he did habitually and countless times before. Darkwing had to stay as brazen as his machine. Not just for his own health but because Gosalyn and Launchpad were also counting on him. "If Grizz kills Drake Mallard, Darkwing Duck will simply vanish. It's strange; I always expected it to happen the other way around."

Launchpad came up, dressed in his purple costume. Darkwing looked down at himself. His Vespers had turned every one of his own costume sets grey and black. Looking at Launchpad still in purple made him feel like he'd personally walked through of one of Gosalyn's old black and white horror movies.  
'Darkwing Duck In: The Atomic Brain Two.' "Okay, Launchpad let's get dangerous."

He got onto the rat-catcher and turned on the engine. It came to life with a roar and he drove out of the tower.

* * *

Darkwing parked on a side street just a block from the scene of the crime.  
"See you later, Launchpad." He watched his dedicated friend move off before moving on to the crime scene. Yellow tape, as he expected, was everywhere.

"Ah, Darkvink, I vas wondering vhat had become of you." Grizlykoff snickered. "I haff been vaiting."  
'Great, stuck with the eternal brick wall of pain.' Darkwing thought in displeasure and followed Grizlykoff.

"If you haff read case file, you vill know it is identical circumstance."  
"Except that Curtis Mane was twenty two years older than Drake Mallard Senior when he died."  
"I see not what relevance this is havink."  
"Of course not."

Darkwing stepped through the horrific decorum of the burnt and hollowed out building.  
"Only a person who has look at reports vould know this."  
"Or even perhaps the person who committed the original crime? He would also know too, you know."  
"You disagree with Director Hooter?"  
"It's an investigation, Grizz. You're supposed to look at all the options, not just the one! I've done my own background check. Drake Mallard isn't a criminal. He leads a normal suburban lifestyle. He's a single parent and stays out of trouble."

"What does he do? How does he pay bill?"  
"I haven't investigated that far yet. Unlike you, I've only been on this job for an hour."  
"Bah."  
"Maybe, since we are here, we can try reconstructing the crime?"  
"Ya. Victim is here. Killer with gun there. He fires gun, then he fires place, and leaves." Grizlykoff looked around at the charcoaled place. "Why do I feel I know zis name?"

Grizlykoff's simplification of the crime didn't dampen how Darkwing felt about it. He gritted his teeth with his rising temper. "It's not enough to kill his target, but he goes and kills other people just to attempt to hide it. I need to get started." Darkwing vanished from the room.

* * *

Grizlykoff turned around from contemplating the fire spread. "Darkwink, there is ..." He looked right around the room. The masked mallard had vanished. "Darkwink?"

There was a moment before the agent's intercom link crackled.  
"Drake Mallard's left his residence, sir."  
"Finally." Grizlykoff grumbled. "Fill out necessary forms to pursue undercover."  
"Yes, sir."


	6. Signed

_A/N: Real-time is currently enabled..._

_A/N: Okay, anybody notice what moral rule that Drake is forced to break here? If you work in accounting you should see this one jump out of the screen like a 3D special effect._

* * *

**Chapter Six: Signed**

* * *

Drake Mallard, briefcase in hand, stepped into the lobby of Hamil Corp. On the way here he made sure he kept looking straight ahead. If there was one thing he knew about government organisations, it was that they surveyed a suspect's activities intently.

"Can I help you, sir?"  
"Yes, I ..." His voice cut out. He closed his beak.

Pride wasn't an option today and fear was never an option. He told himself this and forced the painful words out of his mouth. "I need help." He croaked.  
The receptionist watched him carefully. "What makes you think we're the people that can help you?"

Drake pulled out the employment agreement from his briefcase and handed the envelope to the receptionist. "It's all signed." He said quietly. "Could you get it to Mr. Lawrence Eider?"  
"Certainly, sir. If you care to take a seat, there will be someone here for you shortly."  
"I ... need to stay clear of the windows." He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping there were no red targeting lights shining on him right now.  
"Perhaps you'd be better to take it yourself, then, Mr. Mallard. For security, press X and then 2."

"Thank you." Drake took the letter back and went to the lift. He pressed the down arrow.

* * *

This was Drake's only plan. He was officially without options; seeking refuge and assistance just as if he really were a criminal.

Eider was there when the doors of the lift opened.  
"Hi." He said dumbly.  
"Hi, Drake. I wondered if we'd see you back here."  
Drake stepped out of the lift. "Er, talking about seeing things, you haven't by any chance spotted any snipers on your perimeter checks in the last ten minutes, Eider?"

Eider's face went from neutral to severe. "Yes, as a matter of fact. You'd better be able to explain this, Mallard." Eider led him down the corridors and into a small office.

* * *

"They followed me here. They're waiting for me out there. They're waiting to get the signal to kill me." Drake clutched the back of the visitor's chair as Eider sat down behind the desk. To Drake's right sat a very ordinary computer screen.

"Welcome to the food chain, buddy." Eider said, derisively. "Why are they hunting you?"  
Drake sighed. "I wouldn't use the word 'hunt'. They know exactly where I am. It's too late to hide from them because they're looking directly at me."  
Eider gazed at him. "Agreed. The hunt is the game of it. This person ..."  
"Grizlykoff."  
"No, the other one."  
"Director Hooter? No. He's not the one with his finger on the trigger."

"But by your own perceptions, Grizlykoff always has his finger on the trigger. He's just in want of someone to point him in the direction to fire."

Drake raised an eyebrow. "It's funny you putting it like that, because that's what they were saying about me. That I was a ... weapon uncontrolled and unleashed."  
"Drake ..." Eider leaned forwards. "I've seen you work. And you, my friend, have so much direction, the only worry I have is of how far you'd go in that direction."  
"Launchpad keeps me grounded. And Gosalyn." Drake sat down in the chair and reached into his briefcase.

* * *

"Twenty years ago, someone killed my father." Drake pulled out the case files from the briefcase. "Last week, they found another victim." He handed him the S.H.U.S.H. files.

"I can't see how that turns around on you. You're just one of the victims in this picture." He flicked through the folders.  
"They've run a background check on everyone associated with my father and Curtis Mane. It appears that I'm the only one with a warped record. The worst of it is that I gave that information freely at the time."  
Eider flicked to a page, "this psychological exam?" Drake flinched as Eider read it. "But there are years between that and Darkwing Duck, so many you might not even be related."

"And also the electoral roll. I didn't have a residence, so I couldn't vote. That puts some time between Darkwing Duck and Drake Mallard again. Still, the problem arises when I took up residence. Drake got the house and Darkwing got a S.H.U.S.H. contract."

"But the fact remains that you still didn't commit this crime."  
"I most certainly did not! I buried my parents long ago. I'm only interested in stopping further crimes in St Canard." He flinched again. "And to have the right that every parent in the world should have: a safe, permanent home to raise my daughter in peace."  
"Then you can only be proved innocent. The evidence will not stack up and you'll walk."

"What you've got in your hands is already damning."  
"But you've come a long way since high school. What kid doesn't have issues in high school?"  
"Yeah, but all Hooter and Grizlykoff see is a criminal profile in the making."

"A jury would sympathise with a boy who lost his father."  
"No, see that's my whole problem: they won't, because they won't get the chance." Drake sighed, sitting back in despair. "If Grizlykoff concludes that I'm guilty, the case won't get to trial. I will be very dead."  
Eider went quiet. "I see." He announced solemnly.

* * *

"Five people died last week. I have every intention of finding their killer and I know where to begin the investigation. But I can't do it with Grizz picking through the holes in the life of my alter ego." He pulled out the envelope again from his vest.

Eider watched Drake carefully as he took it from him. "You do realise you're not comfortable with doing this?"  
"I have a long list of uncomfortable things that I've done in my life."  
Eider pulled the form out of the envelope and read through it. He signed it and then pulled out another form from the drawer beside him. "You'll need a job description."  
"I'd rather not have one of those on record." Drake eyed the explicit document. "This is how my psychological entrance exam into the police academy turned into a draft criminal profile."

"Hmm, I don't think the problem will reoccur with us, but I see your concern to have it on paper." Eider tapped the pen on the table for a moment. "What sort of work do you do for S.H.U.S.H.?"  
"They ... call me in when they need an unconventional approach on solving a case."  
"Then that'll be it: 'Contract services rendered'." Eider wrote the three words on the blank space and filled in the remaining details. He slid it across the table.

Drake took a careful look at the form and then signed it.

Eider stood up. "Welcome to the Hamil Corporation family." He offered his hand. Drake stood up with some presence of mind and shook it.

* * *

_A/N: If the logic here doesn't make sense to you or if I've overdone the technobabble: You may be surprised to learn but as much as I know I have this issue, I can't always pinpoint the problem. Often when I spot a problem in my stories, I haven't a clue on how to fix it. This mental episode arises from the fact that I am not a very good writer. If I was, would I be practising on ducks? _


	7. The X Levels

_A/N: Okay, so now I've amended this chapter per recommendations, it should be a little better. _

* * *

**The X Levels**

* * *

Eider led Drake back to the reception area.

"Hi, Joss." The level's receptionist looked up at Eider's greeting with a smile, not giving a second glance to Drake. Eider handed her the employment forms. "I'd like Mallard to join the training session we have scheduled tonight."  
"Yes, sir. I'll fit his induction program around it."

Drake turned back to Eider. "What induction program?"  
"We have a corporate culture. We need to familiarise you with how we do things around here."

"I have to get back to work. I'll leave you in Joss's capable hands." Eider gestured and took the bulky briefcase, putting it on the reception desk.  
"Thank you." Drake intoned as Eider left. He turned back to face Joss, who was staring intently at her computer screen, determinedly making Drake feel unwelcome.

* * *

Drake stood there watching Joss for a long while. "So do you get many non-vampire employees?"  
"Not in security." She replied without looking up at him. "Everywhere else." She kept her eyes fixed on the screen.  
He considered this answer. "Is that because vampires are accepted as more able-bodied against threats?"

She finally looked up at him, fixing her hazel eyes on him with a grim look on her face. "Yes, frankly. Envys are flimsy and easily broken. You fall, you bleed, you bruise, and you struggle against any amount of undue pain. I can't see you handle the training exercise, Mallard, much less a genuine threat." She took a breath. "You've won over our section head somehow, but that training is going to be the proof." She went quiet and continued tapping at her computer.

'Yeah? Well, I like proof too.' In his mind, there was no more argument to have with the frosty receptionist for the time being.

"I've sorted out your schedule. X3 first."  
Drake stared at her for a moment. "What's on X3?"  
"I have to input your forms into the system." She said, ignoring his question and Drake realised he had a tough case on his hands. He went to the lift and once inside he pressed X and 3.

* * *

Drake stepped onto the level and once again approached the receptionist's desk. "Hello?" Drake looked down at the new person. "I'm ..."  
"Yes, I see you're scheduled in, Mr. Mallard. He won't be a moment."

'Every level in this building has a receptionist.' Drake recalled his tour scarcely a week ago. On every level you would walk two steps out of the lift and into the reception waiting area. Every level had a few empty chairs and some sort of coffee table on which perched a short stack of books or magazines. Only the decor and the people made the levels different from each other. Like this one; instead of a brown haired woman duck with an attitude, it was a male dog with a mild look on his face.

Drake paced the room, realising this induction program was going to take all night and that he'd have to start looking for the killer tomorrow. What was the connection between Curtis Mane and his father? He'd never heard of the man, but then, he'd only been six when he'd lost his father.

"Drake Mallard?" He turned his head. At the mouth of the corridor was a tall lean duck in a white lab coat. "I'm Doctor Simon Anatra."  
"Hi ... I'm not sick."  
"Anyone can see that." Anatra gestured to the corridor behind him.

* * *

Anatra led him through into a large medical ward. It was empty at the moment.

"I take it you get a lot of sick people coming in." He gazed at all the empty beds, remembering Joss's words about 'Envys'. "Who?"  
"Oh, just usually the security department, it's nothing to bother you." He gestured to a bed and busied himself with equipment.  
'But I am in the security department!' Drake took a steadying breath and decided to deal with one thing at a time and get the answer to that question later.

The bed that Anatra had directed Drake to wasn't just any ordinary sort of hospital bed. The numerous computer-panels surrounding it made Drake suppose that they used this setup for intensive care patients. "That's a pretty big machine."  
"It's a bio-scanner. It'll take a record of your systems. It's company policy to have a template for all our employees. We don't come across a lot of need for them but it's a good insurance in case something ever does happen to you."  
"That's ... very reassuring." Drake moved over and lay down on the bed.

When Anatra activated the scanner, Drake's feathers began to prickle all over. "I ... should have asked if there were any side effects."  
"I haven't encountered this one before." Anatra remarked, switching off the scanner. The tingling stopped. "Vespers always carry the impression of their previous host. But you have no physical evidence of genetic re-sequencing. Your Vespers only have an impression of you. You're not a vampire. How can you have Vespers?"  
"A cloud of them invaded me. They came out of an energy vat."  
Anatra shuddered in horror. "That must have been an excruciating experience for you."

Drake twitched with the painful memory. "Better me than Launchpad." He reasoned it off.

* * *

"You're only young, too." Anatra continued on, grasping Drake's arm and rolling up his sleeve.  
Drake watched him do it with a great deal of personal misgivings. "Somehow I didn't think a vampire would handle dealing with blood very well."  
"Ah, see, mainstream perceptions. Vampires actually make very good doctors. I'll prove it." He put his hand against Drake's chest. "If you were electrocuted and your heart stopped beating, I could make it beat again for you. Or say if your heart rate was faltering or too low. I can raise it."

There was a nervous spasm in his body. "Oh ... what?" Drake's breathing quickened against his judgment. "Let ... go!" He squawked, backing away, holding his hand against his heart. It was still pounding.

"You are quite a healthy specimen." The doctor gazed steadily at him. "Lie down."  
Drake stared motionless at the doctor staring back at him.  
'Lie down.'  
"No!" Drake pushed against the mental repetition. The foreign control disappeared and left his heart rate to its own devices. Drake took a breath of relief.

"You've got a good defence system."  
Drake blinked at that. 'That was a test?'  
"We're always a bit worried that someone could torture the information out of an Envy staff member. We don't even like the idea that other vampires might take them over." Anatra took Drake's arm again and he flinched against the strong grip.  
"Let go. I'm warning you."  
"Oh, are you really that reluctant to donate a bit of blood?" Anatra let go.

Drake rubbed his arm. That was one heck of a grip for a doctor.

* * *

Anatra finished setting up the mobile extractor unit, giving Drake a moment to rationalise his position.  
'I don't have the option not to comply in this place.' Drake knew he'd signed a contract that explicitly tied him to the corporate community. He took a steadying breath and lay down.

Anatra put his hand against Drake's chest again. Another nervous spasm and Drake's heart rate slowed down. His body felt a great pull to sleepiness as he lay there. Anatra's fingers were spidery on his arm as he applied the antiseptic swab. Then Drake felt the needle, long and metallic sliding uncomfortably between his feathers, through his skin and into his vein.

Drake's heart rate accelerated again, rising higher and higher. His head spun for a long frightening moment before his heart rate lowered to normal again.

"You've got what you wanted, now let me go." And the doctor let go of him, withdrawing the needle as he did. Drake was fighting against gravity now. He sat up, cradling his head, dizzy, feeling faint. 'How much blood did he take?' It felt like a great quantity.  
"You should take it easy for a while."  
"Great, thanks for the suggestion!" Drake snarked; he was rather unimpressed with his current physical state. He got off the bed and stumbled out of the room.

* * *

Drake got to the medical reception area and dropped into a chair. "Okay, now I'm worried about the training session." He rubbed his face, remembering the last S.H.U.S.H. test program Grizlykoff had pushed on him. He had been perfectly healthy at the start of that and nearly didn't survive it. This time he was going in already sick. 'What proof will this be now?'

"Mr. Mallard, you're due on Level X2." The Dane informed him.

Drake stood up carefully, mindful of his spinning head. "Good job Anatra's got a template of me now." He commented aloud. "I'll probably be back in here before the night is out." He stepped towards the lift and pressed the up button.


	8. The Short Straw

_A/N: Monet's 'Water Lilies' exist in the form of literally dozens of reprints. Maybe they figure that having something washed out, pale and watery in a doctor's clinic is good company when you feel like death warmed up yourself. (Face it, the originals look better!)_

_I do sometimes wonder why they don't put something more positive in a clinic as motivation: 'Look, here's a picture of a nice sunny beach with a bunch of people enjoying themselves there. Just think, the sooner you get well, the sooner you can get out there and enjoy yourself too.' Oh well, I guess that one's up to us, huh?_

_A/N: Someone once advised me that people want to read stories in real time. So yes, I have done that here. _

_A/N: I am treating these 'chapters' as building blocks, rather than the traditional concept of chapters. (I do know what a real chapter is!) But I once received advice that posting a real chapter by traditional concepts was 'too long' for readership so I am no longer doing that._

_A/N: I take the advice that I can get._

* * *

**The Short Straw**

* * *

Drake got out of the lift and considered Joss in front of him. Clearly, her unpleasant sentiment towards him ran deeper than he had initially suspected.

"Your access levels are set. There's more paperwork for you to go through." She handed him his briefcase over the counter, tucking her short hair back around her ear afterwards.

Drake grabbed the briefcase. The weight of it nearly toppled him over. Quickly he put it on the floor. What had been an easy lift before now felt strenuous. He clenched his beak. Like Grizlykoff, it seemed Joss was out to confront him with the failings within him; that she was stronger than him and that he was helpless under the mountains of paperwork.

Drake's indignance and sense of outrage on that thought strengthened him. "Is there a training outfit for me, or am I going in like this?" He gestured to his green and pink suburban clothes.  
"Yes, it's right here."  
He snatched the bundle from her hands. "Great! Thanks!" He grabbed the handle of the briefcase and headed towards the toilet signs.

His temper renewed his enthusiasm. "Let's get dangerous."

* * *

He stepped out of the mirror-less restroom and sat down on one of the waiting chairs, dropping the briefcase beside him. Drake ... no, was his name Drake? He looked down at the black gear he had on, properly confused. 'No, Drake, it is Drake. I'm still Drake.' He rubbed his face, it was so much more difficult without the aid of a mirror.

The mallard sat there staring at the unusual painting on the opposite wall. The dots and swirls on the mute brown background depicted an incident 'In the Dreamtime'. He sighed. 'Thank goodness it isn't Monet's "Water Lilies".'

It wasn't just Joss that was getting on his nerves, or even the fact that he was still struggling to remember if he was Drake or his alter ego. It was because the criminal that killed his father just killed five more people. Instead of being out there tracking him down, he was mucking around in this place. Why? The reason was Grizlykoff.

* * *

"Mallard?"

'Mallard' blinked, refocusing his attention from the char grilled crime scene in his memory. 'Mallard?' He took in the name that she called him. 'It's not a mirror but that'll do right now.'  
Joss was standing there in front of him. "Are you coming, or are you just going to continue sitting there staring at nothing?"

He grabbed the briefcase's handle.  
"Here." Joss took it from him. "It'll be safe under the desk."  
"It's just paperwork." The duck snorted, wondering why she'd give it back to him in the first place; he didn't have time to read! Lives were what was important to keep safe, not the pieces of paper that commemorated or, in his case, condemned them. Condemned was the word. Joss, Hooter, and Grizlykoff all condemned him. Heck, why not throw in most of Morgana's family and the lord mayor of St Canard?

Mallard followed Joss through a range of corridors. She opened the door and left it open for him to follow her through. He didn't hesitate and stepped in through the door right after her.

* * *

There was six more people in the room warming up, twirling metal rods with thick rubber tips in their hands."I don't believe it: quarterstaffs?" He raised an eyebrow. Along with Quack Fu, quarterstaffs were one of his first training weapons! This would be a cinch!

"You've got a problem with that?" One of the people larked. "He's got a problem with quarterstaffs, everybody."  
"Give the new guy some slack. What weapon would you prefer to train with, Mallard?"

"Oh, no, quarterstaffs are fine, I guess." Mallard played into the moment, "I just thought for such high technology people that you might have something a little more sophisticated." The duck picked up one of the weapons. It was light and hollow. Sure he knew how to handle the weapon but he still had to be careful; he was in a room full of vampires and he didn't want a repeat of the incident with the doctor. He had a feeling another blood donation could kill him.

Mallard's eyes fell on Joss. She'd made sure to put him to disadvantage. It was she that had put his life in the balance. He fisted the staff and joined the line, standing purposefully in front of Joss. He was in a room with a bunch of vampires and he had no margin for error.

Not unlike a tank full of circling sharks.

* * *

Joss swung her staff at him. Mallard blocked the blow squarely with his staff, but the strength of it shook him. He dodged clear out of the way of the next blow, giving a chance for the feeling to come back into his fingers. The one thing he hadn't been prepared for was that the metal pole in his hands conducted kinetic energy.

The next moment Mallard came back at Joss full strength. The staffs collided. He pushed off and stepped back. He shifted his hold on his staff as she twirled hers to the same effect.

They paced a circle, and she lunged at him, he trapped her staff to the floor and tripped her up. He prodded her chest with the rubber end of his staff as he stood over her. She blinked up at him in shock.

Mallard glanced up. The room had gone completely still and silent as the three other sets of fighters stared wholesale at them. He stepped away from Joss and she got up. He loosened his hold on the staff, readying himself for another hard strike from her.

* * *

It didn't come. Instead, someone else stepped in front of her and made the blow. Mallard dodged out of the way and took his opportunity, jabbed the rubber end as hard as he could at the other.

Mallard wasn't remotely finished with his need for aggression, but a tactful retreat was in order if he wanted to survive this room. He backed up, twirling the staff in his hands, his eyes on all seven of them now. "What's next?" He thundered in his best threatening voice.

They stared at him for a bit longer before they turned away and put their quarterstaffs back.

* * *

After the last of them left, Mallard crumpled to the floor. He took deep slow breaths, willing the dizziness to leave. It had been easy to ignore while surviving was the key issue. After a moment he dragged himself up to a stand. He didn't have time to recover here. He grabbed the staff and dropped it in the holder with the others.

Drake stepped out of the room and looked around the corridor. "Reception." He decided. He'd delayed, and now he was late. He needed to regroup.


	9. The Terror

_A/N: This is written in consideration of 'real-time' where I attempt to cover every step (rather than alluding to it) however non-action oriented it is._

_A/N: I have edited the previous chapters slightly since I initially posted them. Nothing very dramatic, but I'll reserve that option for that possible one day in the future when I might find some stroke of brilliance and fix them up properly. I dunno, just maybe. It does happen._

* * *

**Chapter Nine: The Terror**

* * *

There was a relief receptionist sitting there when Drake returned to security reception.

"Could you tell me where I'm supposed to be?"  
"You should be in a training session." The blonde didn't look up.  
This apathy grated on Drake's nerves more than Joss's disapproval. "Yes, okay, but where? I fell behind from the others."

Now the receptionist looked up. "I forgot, sorry. Go down the corridor, to the right, third door on the left."  
Drake recalled his steps that he'd just taken in his mind. "That's where I just was with the quarterstaffs. Where is everyone now?"  
"Uh ... perhaps you'd better sit down for a while. Do you want your briefcase?"

"I'll get it when I leave." Drake sat down in a hurry as another wave of dizziness crashed down on him. 'If I leave, that is.'

* * *

"What's the big idea,Lawrence?"

Lawrencestood up at his desk. "You do not address me in that ..." He watched all seven of the people that were scheduled into training with Drake Mallard step into view, either in the room or milling in the doorway. "What are you lot doing in my office?" He let his anger drift away from him "what's the problem?"  
"Who is this new guy?"  
"He's Drake Mallard." Eider responded halfly.

"How are we supposed to work with a duck like that?" Clive asked frostily. "He's a maniac."  
Eider narrowed his eyes. "Contain yourself, Clive."  
"For what I just saw, he's the one that needs containing! Am I right, guys?"

"We're taking him in under contract and that is the end of the discussion." Eider said forcefully, crossing his arms.  
"Oh, yeah?" Clive grunted.  
"Yeah, I mean yes! This is an ideal turn out for Hamil Corp!" Eider said animatedly. "We now have full access to Drake Mallard's services as and when we require them. That's ... well, it's fortuitous. He's simply invaluable."

"I for one don't believe it." Clive grunted. "I could swear this was the same guy I took out in Whitechapel in 1892."  
"Hamil Corp didn't hire you to spout personal prejudices." Eider scowled. "Not every bad-tempered duck that you find in the dark will also be a vicious psychotic killer."

"I agree with Clive, Lawrence." Joss announced. "Historically Envys make the trouble and we clean it up. That Mallard has 'mess' written all over him."  
Eider clenched his beak. "I've seen this guy work, you lot. It may look messy, but trust me; his methods are quite effective. Now, why have you left training?"  
"Bah; forget training!" Scott from the doorway scoffed. "This guy doesn't know a training session from a field exercise. You did tell him it was just training, right, Joss? Not the real thing?"  
"Of course I did! In fact, it was Lawrence who said it."

She turned back to Eider. "Come on, Lawrence, what can Hamil Corp possibly need a guy like this for?"  
Clive's face went pale. "Dear god. Now I understand."  
"Oh, it's so good that suddenly you know all the answers, Clive." Joss grumbled.

Clive turned his head to the others and they all went pale as their heart rates dropped.  
Eider growled. "If you have something to say, Clive, say it to my face, don't mouth it behind my back!"  
Clive turned his head back to face Eider. "What's possessed you, Lawrence?" Clive asked in a begging voice. "The audit we had couldn't have come up that bad. I mean, we use our heads. We don't step out of line. What's the go?"

Eider raised an eyebrow. "You think our employing this person has something to do with the audit?"  
"Well, sure." Joss agreed. "With you-know-who sitting up there on the top floor ..." Some of them shuddered. "We all know what she's about."  
Eider sat back in his chair.  
"Just tell us, Lawrence. Was it you or her upstairs that employed this Mallard dude?"  
Eider was silent for a long moment as he chose his words. "You're all taking this very personally. One might even get the impression you believe the world revolves around you."  
"Of course it doesn't but it's the only line of reason that makes sense at the moment. No Envys are ever hired into the security department."  
"Well, as a matter of fact Mallard won't be here most of the time. Can't you find it within yourselves to deal with someone like this on the odd occasion? You're hardly perfect yourselves. Isn't there some forgiveness within you for someone like him?"

Clive slapped his hand on the table. "Not if we're dust there won't be!"

Eider blinked in shock. This conversation was too emotionally weird for him and Eider was fed up having it. "You are all dismissed." Then he frowned at them as they continued to stand there in the room in confusion. "Okay, for those of you who need a civilian translator, that means ... get-out-of-my-office-right-now!" They got out of the room and he summoned the nearby Vespers, slamming the door behind them. "Unbelievable." He rubbed his face.

* * *

Drake Mallard's mind returned from Curtis Mane back to his father, Drake Mallard Senior. Who was his father, anyway? All that Drake really knew for certain was that his father had been a fire-fighter. From this fact Drake also knew that both he and his father were both Mallards in the traditional sense: they had both made it their profession to face their fears.

Beyond these scarce few facts, Drake's memory and knowledge was sadly lacking. Drake needed to uncover and trace back his father's path that would lead him to the person who hated him so much to have murdered him. The Midnight Mallard had to find the murderer.

Darkwing Duck had to stop them from killing again.

* * *

"Drake, are you alright?" Drake looked up at Lawrence Eider who was standing in the centre of the room. "What happened?"  
Drake blinked. "Nothing," he thought 'relatively speaking;' "nothing important."  
"To you, it was nothing maybe. I on the other hand just averted a mutiny. Or I've at least delayed it for the time being. Clive is extremely upset."  
"Upset?" Drake blinked. 'That must have been the one that rushed me with the quarterstaff.' "Let me remind you ..." Drake stood up slowly. "I have a dangerous job, but I don't have a death wish. I'll take the best advantage as I identify it."

"Well, sure, but you don't think you maybe didn't have to wail on them like that? The training session is supposed to be half an hour, not five minutes."  
"You've got to be kidding me." With his unsteady blood pressure, Drake knew he wouldn't have survived half an hour.

"Drake, what made you think-."  
"Tell me, Eider; how long does it take?" He fixed his eyes on the vampire. "Come on, a long standing head of vampire security ought to have an answer. Does it really take half an hour? What about five minutes? Let's try two minutes? Shall we count down from there? How long do you need in order to kill?"

Eider glanced away, looking at the floor. "You shouldn't attack when you're not armed with any defences, Drake."  
Drake snorted. "I was a dead duck walking into this place. I was dead before I got here with snipers trained on me. There's already a gravestone out there with my namesake on it. Did you know I'm the last of my family? Genetically it all ends with me. All the Mallard fire-fighters, sheriffs, ambulance officers and musketeers throughout history all come down to me. There'll be no more Mallard knights to defend to the dawn once I die. And you have the indulgence to tell me to go easy on a couple of on-the-inside-of-two-minutes vampires. I'm surprised they didn't come at me all at once. Actually, I was expecting it, so why didn't they?"

"A training session is intended to keep the mind alert. Break up the work, have a bit of a social thing."  
"What kind of proof is that?" Drake squawked in disbelief.  
"Drake, you've successfully terrorized my security staff. Why are you so angry?"  
"I've what!" Drake gaped at Eider. "I can't believe you just said that. The differential is insane."  
"They think I've hired a Vampire Slayer. They think you're a Vampire Slayer."

"Give me a reason and I might make good on the notion." Drake stated coldly.

Eider stepped back nervously. "You gather your strength from your emotions."  
"Why, did you think it ran in my veins or something?"  
Eider took another step back, his eyes widened. "You've lost blood!"  
Drake stiffened. "Isn't it company policy to give blood donations?"  
"Yes. But why would Joss schedule it right before a training session? Why didn't she make it for afterwards?"  
"Obviously to give me a long walk off a short pier. So, what's next on my schedule?"  
"No. Go home; come back tomorrow evening at nine. I need to talk with Joss to get this straightened out."

"It doesn't bother me much." Drake brushed it off as the relief receptionist came around the table and handed him his briefcase. "I'm used to people trying to kill me. I've learned to reserve my expectations over everybody."  
"Try to get some rest, Drake. You need it."  
"I'll see you tomorrow." Drake went to the lift and once inside, pressed G.


	10. Briefcase

_A/N: Like, wotevah man._

_A/N: You wish it were that simple to shrug off._

* * *

**The Briefcase**

* * *

'I am exhausted.' Drake stepped out of the building. These were his hours, but it felt like he'd run a marathon. The briefcase was an easier load if he carried it in both arms, so he clutched it to his chest as he headed home.

"Excuse me, sir." S.H.U.S.H. operatives confronted him. These were Grizlykoff's men, trained and ready to kill him on a single word. "What have you got in the bag?"  
"I ... she just gave it to m..." 'Oh, woops!' Joss had put things in his bag and he hadn't even checked it before he walked out of the place! And it seemed so gosh darn heavy. "Do you have a warrant?"  
"Look, sir, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."  
"I have a question." Drake narrowed his eyes at them. "What makes you two any different from a pair of common criminals?"

On his words, Drake backed away and his tired feet tripped on the pavement. He fell down and the briefcase crashed open, spilling papers on the ground. He scrabbled for the paperwork that went flying. Fortunately the case files were tucked safe into the folds and therefore remained hidden.

One of the agents grabbed some of the paperwork.  
Drake glared at him reading it. "That is confidential information, please return it!"  
The second agent stepped in front of him. "Take it easy, sir. You wouldn't want to be arrested for attacking a government official."  
"I have been more than polite to you!"

The first agent with the papers was on his S.H.U.S.H. intercom link. "Sir, you'd better take a look at this." Drake collected the rest of the paperwork and slammed the briefcase shut, this time twisting the combinations around. That, of course, wouldn't stop these guys once they had the right equipment.

* * *

"I am agent Grizlykoff." The agent arrived shortly and took the piece of paper. He read it for a moment. "Mr. Mallard, do you know what is on this piece of paper?"

"No, as I explained before to your little ... friend here, the receptionist only just handed me the briefcase back. I do not yet know what she put in there."  
"You have not read this?"  
"No."  
"Vhy you not know what paper you have in your possession?"  
"Obviously it's because I'm not good with paperwork." Drake could have exploded.

"Vhy do you leave your previous job?"  
"You ..." Drake hesitated, "you have no right to ask me these questions." He turned his head, gazing at the ominous building. "That should say 'contract service', which should suggest that I can still do my old job."  
"Vhy are you taking on another job?"  
"Why? Why. Why, you ask?" It didn't take Drake a moment to find an answer. "There's no stability in it, that's why! I'm tired of watching my bank account from one month to the next, not sure on when I'll get another call."

"I'm tired of scraping through. My problem is that I can never fit into a suit like you." He prodded Grizlykoff for emphasis. "I can't sit at a cushy desk looking down on people, never mind the entrance exam. All I am is my uniform. So yeah, it really does get under my feathers, when you with your massive regular pay check have the hide to ask someone with my financial minimalism why they are taking on yet another job. Well, I'm sure not giving up my first job." He huffed. "The second job can go; I've grown decidedly unattached to it." He advanced on Grizlykoff and held out his hand. "Excuse me but that is mine." Grizlykoff handed him back the paper. Drake grabbed the handle of his case and stomped off.

He got home and dropped the case by the stairs. He fell asleep on the lounge.

* * *

In due course Eider assembled his security staff in the observation room.

"Alright. It seems that some of you feel my selection for a new employee wasn't game enough. Some of you actually don't believe an Envy can pull the security line." He crossed his arms. "Joss, tell me, what are an Envy's symptoms after losing a large quantity of blood?"  
"I ... er ..." She turned bright pink as her heart rate shot up.  
"Speak up to the room! Tell us all exactly how much weaker Drake was before _He_ made a fool of _You_." He stepped back. "I don't appreciate having any member of my staff persecuted like what has just happened, and I do not like having my rational decisions questioned." He narrowed his eyes.

"If you can't take the pressure don't hold it against Drake Mallard. He has signed a binding, legal contract with Hamil Corporation. If you can't make peace with that fact then transfer out of the St. Canard offices. For those of you who do decide to stay, I will not stand to have my decisions undermined again and that is not an idle threat. Do I make myself clear? I-can't-hear-you!"  
"Yes, sir!"  
"Dismissed!"

However they weren't trained police officers, so they took that as their cue to relax, much to Eider's disbelief.

"I said ..."  
"Sir, where did he come from? I mean, why us?"  
Lawrence Eider glared hotly at Clive. "I trust you are just curious, Clive?" Clive nodded. "He can't solve the case he's on without our backup."  
"We're helping him?" Clive scoffed.  
"Drake Mallard is one of the best in our whole entire field. The gap is so great that there is no one like Drake Mallard."  
"Sir, how is he going to help us?"  
"Clive, you idiot." Eider hissed. "He already does help us; we've just never paid him before."

Eider fixed his eyes on the slouching lot of civilians that he was in charge of. "From now on, when I say 'dismissed' I want you to get out immediately and get back to work. We're going to start doing things properly around here or there really will be some dust flying! Now ... dis-missed!"

* * *

Gosalyn came down the stairs. Her father didn't fall asleep on the chair unless he was too tired to get to bed. She spied the briefcase and hauled it up the stairs. On her bed, she figured the code, and sprang the locks. It was a mess of papers. She began sifting through it. She read the signed copy of the employment contract and fought tears back. "Oh, dad, someone's pushed you right to the end. What made you do it?"

She continued sorting through the papers. There were rules for this, procedures for that, a medical statement, identity verification. Then she began digging into the pockets. 'S.H.U.S.H. files. You're not supposed to tell anybody about these, dad.' She thought silently to herself as she pulled out the files. 'I guess consulting people is maybe okay ...' she began flicking through the files.

She blinked at the psychology report. "S.H.U.S.H. thinks you've killed someone?" She gaped at Grizlykoff's covering form. "Idiots." She knew her father was the only person that could find the real killer. She shut the lid and lugged it out into the corridor. There was a sound of frantic movement downstairs. "Dad? Dad, what are you doing?" She called down the stairs.

Her dad looked up at her. "Oh! You have it!" He raced up the stairs. "Oh, thank goodness, I thought they'd stolen it." He breathed a sigh of relief. Then he looked at her, holding his finger against his beak in warning that someone was overhearing them. "So I take it you now know everything just like agent Grizlykoff knows it all." She nodded. "I have to find out who killed my father or I'm Grizzly's breakfast."

"I'd better come with you."  
"No!" Drake grabbed her arm, "Gos, Grizz uses deadly force without any warning. S.H.U.S.H. is saying I'm a criminal and I'm violent, but you know I never carry a deadly weapon."  
"Heck no, dad." She snorted. "There isn't even a sharp steak knife in the house."

"But on the other hand Grizz freely uses missiles and he's authorised to fire them. If you're standing next to me, you'll only die with me. That is the very last thing in the world I want to let happen, sweetie."  
"What happens ..." She swallowed dryly, "if they find out you're ... a 'security officer'?"  
"Then Grizz just has an added emotional reason for eliminating his suspect." Drake answered bitterly.

She grabbed him into a desperate hug. "I can't stand the idea of losing you, dad. I've lost so many people in my life."  
"Hey, you're not going to lose me, kiddo." He stood up. "But I've just thought of how you can help me." He pulled open the case and handed her a photograph. "Drake Mallard Senior. Could you look for a connection, any connection, between him and Curtis Mane, one of the people that died the other night in the fire? I was far too young to know him. The only thing I remember of my poor dad is that he was a junior woodchucks den leader."

"No problems, dad. Anything to keep you alive, even a trip to the public library."  
"Thanks, sweetie. Now, let's get some breakfast, huh?"

* * *

After breakfast, Gosalyn moved to the front door.

"Wait. Let me go through first." Drake gestured her back, grabbed the door handle and stepped out onto the porch. No shots rang out, no wood went splintering. "Huh, small mercy." He bent down and hugged Gosalyn. Then he stifled a yawn.  
"Bed time, dad." She choked down her tears, "before you fall down."  
"Don't you worry about me, sweetie. I'll be alright."

Drake shut the door behind him and crossed the room to the armchairs. He dismantled the trap door trigger in the statue. He did need sleep, but if he didn't get an answer he'd be sleeping with the fish ... as flotsam.

* * *

Drake got the briefcase, slamming his bedroom door behind him as he went in. He pulled out the crumpled letter that the agent had tortured him over.

**After Due Consideration**

**Of his continual exemplary results at his current employment,  
****As well as his upstanding moral integrity  
****And his trade specific, highly specialised and pertinent studies overseas  
****We at Hamil Corporation extend our employee equity program,  
****With the same due and equal permanence as his employment agreement,**

**To Drake Mallard.**

Drake sighed wearily as he opened the case and put the paper on top. 'Yep, that's pretty permanent.' He thought and pulled the case files out of the briefcase. These were the files that possessing them would get him killed sooner rather than later. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Darkwing Tower. Drake spun dizzily on the spot. "I wish I could get the hang if it." He put the case files on the table and confronted his walls of books. "You must be in here somewhere, dad."

Over across the way was the faint sound of snoring.

"I'd better leave a note for Launchpad so he knows what's going on."


	11. Fire Brigade

_A/N: Why the upload function thinks 'oldCommemorationCemeterynear' needs no spaces is beyond me. IMO it needs at least three spaces ... four if you want to be really pedantic._

* * *

**Fire Brigade**

* * *

In daylight, Darkwing Duck drove the rat-catcher. He first stopped at the old Commemoration Cemetery near Morgana's place. He stepped up in front of the familiar large marble arch grave stone.

"Who are you?" He asked, staring at the words.

**In Loving Memory**

**Drake Mallard Snr.**

**Devoted Husband, Father & Fire-fighter**

The minute picture in the middle showed a helmet and crossed axes.

The words gave him no clue, he'd already read them hundreds of times before.

On the other half of the arch were the words he'd gotten them to inscribe for his mother.

**Love Forever After**

**Eleanor Mallard.**

**Loving Mother, Wife.**

"So here I am, mum." Darkwing crossed his arms, "I'm listening to you." The cemetery was silent as he rewound the stream of conversations with his mother.

He rubbed his face. "He had integrity, honour and accepted the call to duty. D'oh." The mallard could've cried. It was now that it came to his attention that he hadn't modelled himself on his real father. It was instead the ghostly idea of his father that his mother had impressed on him. That perfect shrine she'd shared with her son.

"I know nothing at all." He said sadly to the memory of his mother. "He might as well have been Super Pig, and you his Lois Dane."

He left the cemetery.

* * *

Darkwing's temper was permanently bristling at the very suggestion that he was a criminal. Seeing the S.H.U.S.H. lab disguised as a petrol station along his route didn't help his temper. "Witch hunt." He twisted the handle and drove on.

A few streets over, the Midnight Mallard parked the rat-catcher. He headed up the steps to the fire brigade depot, relieved that, unlike his old primary school, it was still standing.

He passed by the waiting trucks in the garage and knocked on the supervisory door. A grey haired bulldog greeted him. Darkwing recalled seeing this person from Playhouse Avenue the other night. A few more vague memories from long ago drifted across Darkwing's mind, suggesting to him that he'd found the right person to talk to.  
"Darkwing Duck!"  
He bowed. "Hi. It's Percival, right? I'd like to ask a few questions if you don't mind."

"Sure, anything we can do for youse. I wanted to thank youse for yeh help the other night."  
"I'm only here to help." Darkwing smiled at him for a moment before he barrelled on with his questions. "I'm looking for someone who may remember a brigade officer that worked here about twenty years ago."  
"Hey, I was here back then. Say, you not talking about Drake Mallard, are youse?"  
Darkwing nodded. "As a matter of fact I am. Did he have any enemies?"  
"Naw, he was a great guy. All the fellahs couldn't believe he died like that."  
"Were you aware that he was murdered?"

"Only when the cops came and shook us down for information. You know: 'where was youse? Do you own a gun? Can we see it?' That sort'a gave it away. But none of us boys'd attack one of our own. S'hard enough to find a half decent officer and Mallard was the best."  
"Why?"  
"Huh?" Percival blinked at Darkwing.  
"Why was he 'the best', Percival?"

"It's like I kept saying to his missus. Mallard had it up there. He knew fire. He studied architect'ral engineering at night school just for this job." Percival sighed. "He told me one time that walking into a burning building was easy after being on the battlefield."

"Stop! What? There's no record of him in the military in our files!" Darkwing trembled with excitement. 'Keen gear, this is the missing piece!'  
"He said he only had one posting before he quit."  
"Did he tell you where or when?"  
"It had to have been Ducklehoff, because I went there a few years ago for a holiday and the buildings were just the way he described them."

"Did he ever tell you why it made him uncomfortable?"  
Percival shook his head. "Sorry, Darkwing. One of the boys did ask him once but Mallard said he couldn't talk much because it was classified or something."  
"Ducklehoff's still a good start. You've been a great help, Percival. Thanks."

"I don't see how it could be much help."  
"Why's that?"  
Percival shrugged. "Ghosts move on once the people they've haunted are dead."  
Darkwing frowned. "I'm only interested in the living."  
Percival raised an eyebrow. "I've heard that one before ..." He turned away from Darkwing and grabbed out an old album from the bookshelf.

* * *

Percival flicked through the front few pages of the ancient tome. "I know, that was-." He looked up and found that Darkwing was gone. He sat down in his chair, putting down the book. "Li'l Drakey Mallard." He gazed at the faded picture.

_Two children were standing in the brigade's garage in front of the old fire engine. The boy was dressed sloppily in a jacket and a fire helmet while the little girl stood in long plaits looking on._

In the picture she was laughing but Percival knew from his memory of her that there were tear stains on her cheeks. The old bulldog didn't know the little girl's name but the one who made it his job to cheer her up was Drakey Mallard.

Percival slid the photo out of its sleeve and read the back.

**My son's first mission.**

**Drake Mallard Junior - 5 1/2 yrs old.**

Percival could hear his old friend's voice speaking those words. The dark gravelling voice brimmed with pride as he spoke the words 'My son'.  
Percival slipped the photo back into its slot. Then he paused and continued to stare at it.

"Yep." He lifted the computer screen and sat it back down on the table. He grabbed the yellow pages directory that had been propping it up. "Let's see." He opened it out, "M, M. Mouser, Moose, McMouse, McMallard, McInquack, McDuck, McDane, March, Mallard M & B, Mallard N & Mouse R Gardening Specialists, Mallard K, Mallard D & McQuack L, Mallard A."

He pulled out the drawer and ferreted through the papers for an envelope. "I think it's about time you got this one back, kid." He pulled the photo out of the book again.


	12. Two Steps Ahead

_A/N: Yet another appropriate but annoying chapter title. Stupid tune! Get outta my head!_

* * *

**Two Steps Ahead**

* * *

Darkwing stepped out of the fire station and dialled the public library number on his cell phone. "Hi, I need to talk to a Gosalyn Mallard. She should be there?"

"I'm sorry, sir, we don't do that. I can take a message, though."  
"Never mind, I'll see her myself." He hung up. It was a better idea for him to go to the library himself and check on her than it was to leave a message. He got onto the motorcycle, and drove on.

* * *

The Masked Mallard parked a block from the library and did a perimeter check. He found two surveillance agents standing in the bushes across the road from the front.  
"What are you two doing?"  
"We're surveillance."  
"Uh, yeah, I can see that!" Darkwing fumed. "Who ... exactly are you surveying?"  
"Gosalyn Mallard."

Fireworks went off in his head "... I tell you what." Darkwing forced his anger into a tight ball and did his utmost best to swallow it. Ironically, he would never have managed it at all before the singularly destructive force that was his daughter had come into his life. "Director Hooter gave this case to me, and you lot have been impeding my investigation at every turn."  
"Look, Darkwing Duck, we have our orders."  
"You'd shoot a ten year old civilian as she's coming out of the local public library!" Darkwing exclaimed in horror. "You're the ones that are the criminals."  
"This is war and that civilian is on the bad guy's side."  
Darkwing froze three steps in the direction of the library.

He turned slowly back to them. "I'll have the real killer identified soon enough." He pulled out his gas gun and fired the gas grenade at them. "I don't want you killing any innocent civilians in the meantime."

They coughed, and fell asleep in a heap in the bushes. Darkwing finished his perimeter check. That seemed to be the lot and he disapparated, gliding in shadow form along the pavement and into the library.

* * *

"Gosalyn."

"Darkwing Duck." She said, timorously. "I haven't found anything, yet."  
"I expect that they had a station at Ducklehoff together. If we could find a picture of the squad both of them will be in it along with their killer. I'm reasonably certain, if I only had the chance to call Mane's ex-wife I could find out for sure. But it doesn't matter, Gosalyn. I have to get you out of here. Grizlykoff has agents on you right now."  
"Me? But what did ..."  
"Not now, Gosalyn! Just come with me."

He drew her into his arms, and in a whirl of disorientation, they were at the side of the rat-catcher.  
"Whoa. Geez, dad," she steadied herself and got into the sidecar, "that's one ride they don't have at the fairground."

* * *

They drove back to the tower.

Gosalyn and he stepped away from the motorcycle. "Dad, they'll expect me to come out of the library!"  
"I knocked them out. They'll understand."  
"You'll get into trouble for that."  
They both stopped and looked at each other. Darkwing raised an eyebrow. Gosalyn giggled for a moment.

"Oh, dad," she hugged him. "I'm so sorry."  
"Don't worry about me, kiddo. I'm just ... This is still the safest place I can think of for you right now."  
"I'll stay here, dad, don't worry."  
"Oh, sweetie. Darkwing Duck is in danger as well as Drake Mallard."

He sighed. "This is stupid. My father has been dead for twenty years. I dealt with that. The police cold cased him, sure, I was angry when I found that out, but I dealt with that too."  
"I was thinking, dad when you were talking about them being in a squadron together. It could have been someone like Grizlykoff."

"Now, isn't that an interesting thought." He petted her head and wandered over to the table that had a mound of books on it and picked one up. "What if my father faced the same situation in the war as I did today? He'd quit, because I feel that way. I feel like tearing up that contract with S.H.U.S.H. to think I associate with people that would hurt my little girl." He flicked through the pages, "any little girl or boy." He flicked faster, unseeing. "I'll stop them all!" He pushed the books off the desk with a snarl. He had read every one of his father's books time and again. He knew there wasn't a single military photo in any of them.

"Dad! Dad! Easy, easy dad." She grabbed his arm fiercely.  
"Gosalyn, don't you see, Grizlykoff won't even let me get at the criminal. The library that we just escaped from has the information locked away in it. Can't you see, sweetie? I'm just dodge-balling him all day and all night." He rubbed his tired eyes.  
"Then you need help, dad. You can't do it alone. Let me help you."

"You need to stay here, Gosalyn, or they'll start taking pot-shots at you! That is until I can find somewhere safer for you." He grunted in thought and then he pulled out his cell phone. He began texting. "Right now we're okay because we're two steps ahead." He glanced up at her. "I want to stay at least one step ahead and no less."

"What about your new boss? Can he help you?"  
"I think I upset him ..." He yawned and put the phone on the desk. "Never mind now; there's no point because I can't think."  
"You get some sleep dad; you've been up too long. I'll be alright here." She picked up a book from the floor. "I'll do some reading."  
"Whatever, kiddo," he yawned. "Just ... try to be a little bit quiet for your poor father." He patted her head.

He went up to the security monitors and checked them. There was nobody in the house for the moment. He yawned. This was the last opportunity he had. "Where's your backpack, Gos? I'll get some food for us before I get to bed." Putting his feet on the vertical poles of the stairs he slid down to the floor below. She handed him her bag. "I'll just be a minute."

He translocated to the kitchen and loaded up her bag with supplies.

He reappeared in a few minutes and handed her the now bulging bag. "Alright, you're all set. Apples, a thermos, sandwiches for lunch ..." He yawned "... and your toothbrush." He hugged her tightly.

"I'll arm the house alarm, dad. You go sleep."


	13. Get Out Of Dodge

_A/N: I'd give you a proper reference for the technobabble, if I could only remember where I got it from. Someone out there is bound to know. Perhaps it came from an old Merlin movie? _

_A/N: I like having plausible-sounding semi-fictional explanations for purely fictional phenomena._

* * *

**Get Out Of Dodge**

* * *

Darkwing woke up a couple hours later to a blaring alarm. He jumped off the armchair, looking around.

"Red Alert ... Red Alert..."  
"Gee! That's a new one!" Launchpad called out as he stood in the middle of the tower, covering his ears.  
"They've gotten into the house, Launchpad!" Gosalyn yelled back over the noise.

Darkwing climbed up to the security monitors and switched off the ruckus. He slid down the ladder and addressed his friend. "We all need to get out of here, Launchpad. If they find the trap door, they'll trash this place along with everybody and everything in it. Load up the ThunderQuack with as much equipment as you can and get back to your hanger. It's not perfect, but the less of Darkwing Duck they find up here, the more time they'll take figuring it out."

So saying, he went behind his screen and snatched everything off the clothes rack. He came back, dumping the pile on the table. "The colouring makes it easy." He yanked out all the purple and the brown and handed them to Launchpad, keeping the grey and black and green and pink.

"Wait a second, DW; you've still got my bowling outfit there." Launchpad attacked Darkwing's pile. Darkwing glanced at the fluffy thing as Launchpad stuffed it amongst the rest of his clothes. "Heh, somehow I don't think you'll be wanting that one." Launchpad chuckled.  
"No, not really, Launchpad, thank you." Darkwing replied dismissively as he reached across the table and picked up his cell phone. "Yes; she's answered" he sighed. "Thank goodness; I wasn't keen on relying on Hamil Corp for this one." Darkwing shoved the cell phone into his pocket, bundled up his clothes and advanced towards the rat-catcher.

He put his clothes in the rat-catcher's compartment and then came back for Gosalyn's backpack and the blanket resting on the armchair. "Gosalyn, honey, are you ready?"  
"Sure thing, pops." She replied with her arms full of gas grenades and grapple hooks.  
He turned and saw that Launchpad was already getting things together to load up the flyer. "Good luck, Launchpad." He called out and they headed back to the motorcycle.  
"You too, buddy."

* * *

Darkwing pulled up to the curb in front of grand central park and pulled out the lunchbox. "Here, Gos." He handed her a sandwich and took the other one for himself.  
After a few minutes of weary silence between them, Darkwing and Gosalyn headed on to their destination. Darkwing parked in front of Morgana's home and pulled out the backpack from the compartment.  
Gosalyn pulled out the clothes bundle as he swapped to his fedora hat.

Darkwing Duck took a deep breath, staring up the pathway to Morgana's chateau.  
"Dad, what's the matter?"  
He stopped in the middle of opening the gate. "I'm not in a fit state to talk to Morgana."  
"What a time to be macho, dad!" Gosalyn grumbled.  
"I am not being macho!" He exclaimed. "There's a perfectly rational reason for my concern!"  
"There's no problem, dad. You can explain to her why you're tired at the same time as everything else."

"It's not that simple, Gos. Morgana's not normal, she's ..." He frowned. "You've watched monster movies; you do know why she has white streaks in her hair, right?"  
Gosalyn looked up at him. "Gee, dad, I thought you hated that stuff. What movie did you learn that one from? I haven't seen it."  
He shook his head. "Tell me, how is she able to make lightning in her hands and transfigure people and do all those other magical things?"  
"She taps into the energy in the world around us."  
"Around her," he corrected abruptly, "right."

Gosalyn was silent.

"Gosalyn, your faith in my intelligence is staggering!" Darkwing bristled with indignation. "I regularly outwit mad scientists and crazed geniuses." He shut the gate in front of them and turned back to her. "I come home with barely a scratch on me after defeating untold numbers of criminals that literally ogre over me with their size and weight." He gestured with his hands. "I invented a gas gun and I refill my gas grenades with my own chemistry know how." He pulled out his gas gun and twirled it in his hand before returning it to its holster behind him. "I always have an appropriate 'I am the terror' line to give out."  
"I know that, dad." Gosalyn raised her hands in surrender but he continued on.  
"I make my own costume." He grabbed the edges of his cape and swished it in front of him dramatically. "I also designed my own costume. You've watched me make a dress for you, I've made curtains." He tapped his head. "We may have TV dinners sometimes when I'm working on a difficult case but we have just as many proper roasts and any other time it's usually from the stove top."  
"I know, dad."  
"Doesn't any of that tell you that I might be a little bit clever at least?" He ended his rant with a pleading cry in his voice.

"Da-ad!" Gosalyn grabbed him in a hug. "Of course you're smart! But nobody's good at everything. You can't be perfect all the time and I much rather it this way with you less than perfect around Morgana than with someone that has a gun pointed at you."  
He hugged her back. "Oh, I know I'm not perfect, honey. But the truth is that I'm really behind the eight ball when it comes to Morgana." He sighed. "I'm not sure if she even realises it. Maybe she does. She does forgive me a whole lot."

"Realises what, dad?"  
He smiled weakly. "Let's just say, that with me around, her hair won't go much whiter. Come on, sweetie." He picked up the bag and swung the gate open.

They went up the path and onto the porch. Darkwing tentatively rang the doorbell. He really was exhausted. He'd barely snatched two hours of sleep that morning, topped off with a hefty blood donation.

'Speak now or forever hold your peace ...' the door swung open and he quickly opened his beak. "Morgana ..." He looked up into her green eyes. Even in his weakened state the sight of her made his face grow warm and his heart beat faster. "Thanks for your help."  
"Of course, Dark. Come inside." She closed the door behind Gosalyn.

Morgana took the backpack from Darkwing, putting it beside the armchair in the lounge room. "That's better." She eyed the bundle of clothes in Gosalyn's arms. "Why don't you have a shower, Dark? You'll feel better for it."

He gazed at her, surprised and grateful that she wasn't asking for an explanation right away. "Thanks, Morg."

* * *

The airport was like a giant monument to duckdom. The thoroughfare was wide and spacious with decorative plants partitioning the view of the escalators and the keen white of the tiled floor.

Mrs. String waited beside her bulky husband in the arrival lounge. "I barely know him, Ham. I haven't seen him since I was five years old."  
"It's still an excellent business opportunity. Come on, it's your turn, Preena. Only you can get those contracts he's sitting on." Ham said, greedily egging her on. "Think of the tennis court and just go for it! Lay it on real thick, babe. I know you can do it."  
She smiled at him, tickling her finger under his chin for a moment. "Aw, I love you too, porky-pie."

The people started coming out of customs with their suitcases.

A portly grey haired man walked up to them with an uncertain look on his face. "Preena?"  
She smiled pleasantly at him. "Hello, father ..." There was a brief moment of awkwardness which Preena finally resolved by putting out her hand to shake his. "I'm so glad you could come."  
Ham coughed, politely reminding her that he was standing there too.  
"Father, this is my husband, Ham String."  
"I'm glad to finally meet you, Mr Lott."  
"Call me Cammy." The men shook hands.

Cammy turned to Preena. "I had trouble recognising you. You're a bit different than the last photo your mum sent me." He looked her up and down as she stood there in her designer business suit. "I must admit I was expecting something a bit different."  
Preena's smile faded. "What photo was it that mum gave you?"  
"I don't know. Your mum was never one for putting labels on things." He pulled out his wallet and handed it to her. "Do you remember when that photo was taken?"

Preena snarled. "Oh, no, she couldn't take a picture of me before I had the birthday party. It just _had_ to be after." She said through her clenched teeth. "Sometimes I wish that old-."  
"Yes, well." Ham cleared his throat again, interrupting Preena's oncoming tirade about her mother. "Perhaps we'd better go, Preena, dear?"  
"Yes." She snapped the wallet closed and handed it back to her father. "I can get you a much better photo, father." She twisted about on her high heeled dress shoes and strode off.

* * *

Morgana frowned, pacing in front of Gosalyn in the lounge. "I've never seen him like this before." She turned to her familiars. "Oh, Archie." She scooped him up off the arm of the chair and petted him.

"He's alright." Gosalyn repeated. "He just needs some sleep."  
Somehow, Morgana had trouble believing it. "I know that what he needs is food. He hardly eats anything."  
'Talk about a broken record.' Gosalyn frowned. "We had lunch on the way here, Morgana."

"Oh, that's just like him ..." But Morgana's tone changed quickly back to worry. "He's stubborn. What do I do?"  
"Well, they won't be looking here, so dad could really rest awhile now he's got that chance."  
"Rest? But ..."

"That sounds like a great idea." Darkwing yawned, coming down the stairs. "Thanks for letting me use your shower, Morg." He smiled at her. "I'm sure you appreciate my being a little more bearable to stand near now." He took her fingers, kissing them gently.  
"I don't mind. You always smell a little bit musky. Well, not now. You rather smell like my shower gel instead."  
He let out a quiet chuckle. "That's fine with me; I get to be reminded of you wherever I go."

"I'm confident Grizlykoff won't trace us back here for at least two days ..." He stepped back from Morgana and dropped down onto the chair beside Gosalyn. "I'm bushed."

"Dark-."  
Gosalyn put her finger to her beak to quieten Morgana. She watched from her seat beside him as her father's body grew limp and his breathing evened out. She stood up. "He's out for the count." She said quietly, smiling up at Morgana. "Can you teach me how to make some of that food you serve at the restaurant?"  
Morgana considered this. "Oh, I would be delighted to ... but how about you do your homework first?"

Gosalyn gaped at her in shock. "W-what?"  
"Considering that you are missing school right now, I deduce that the books in your bag are for you to study with." Morgana pointed at the suspect backpack. She tapped her beak in thought. "I know; why don't we go through some of it together? You can show me how you learn in Normal school." She clasped he hands together. "That'll be fun, don't you think?"  
"Um ... sure, Morgana."  
"Come into the dining room, dear, and we'll get started." Morgana turned about and glided out of the room.

"It's a conspiracy, that's what I really think it is." Gosalyn grumbled as she went to her bag and dragged out the school books that her father had stuffed in there along with her toothbrush container. "I think I'll need to get a new bag after this." She grumbled, digging under the cans of spaghetti for her pencil case.

* * *

_A/N: My English writing skills are pure junk all the way. If you don't understand something I would like to know so that I may endeavour to fix it. If you don't understand it the next reader will likely not understand it either (unless they're as strange as I am)._


	14. Complications

_A/N: 'In the Black' is an accounting magazine in __Australia__. The term 'In the black' (as opposed to being 'in the red') refers to good financial results in a business. Creative title, isn't it?_

* * *

_***Spoiler for _Clash Reunion_***__  
__A/N: Okay, so I might need to explain Preena and Ham a little. For those of you who missed _'Clash Reunion'_ and can't get at it and you're dying to understand, Megavolt attempts to destroy their high school reunion, but settles for his personal tormentors Preena and Ham instead.__  
__This notorious couple destroyed Elmo Sputterspark back in high school, and they also nearly destroyed Darkwing Duck at the reunion. They are excessively lucky that their childish attitudes didn't fatally backfire on them in either instance. So that's where they come from: the unpunished-because-it's-below-the-radar crime pile._  
_Now, I take a liberty here on their mental states given that I am dealing with them on the terms of 'real' people. If you think what I've written here is too unrealistic, please bear in mind that Darkwing Duck thought they were worth saving. VAPX007: "A few months ago you nearly fried personally at the hands of St. Canard's number one electric villain: Megavolt. How does that make you feel?"_  
_***End of episode summary analysis***_

* * *

**Complications**

* * *

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly allow you to stay in a hotel, father." Preena said indulgently, "you're our guest: you can stay right here in our guest bedroom."  
"Well that's very nice of you, Preena." Cammy stepped into the apartment and looked around at the open plan and the modern expensive furniture. "You've certainly done well for yourselves."  
"Well, I inherited your good business sense."  
"I've made my share of mistakes, Preena, I can assure you." He countered.  
"Mr. Lott, I'll show you your room." Ham interrupted.  
"Thanks, Hamilton." Cammy picked up the handle on his bag and followed Ham.

Preena scowled quietly as she strode purposefully to the bar area. "Yeah; like my mother."

Cammy came back out of the corridor and Preena waved him over.  
"Would you like a glass of Webdale's vintage Shiraz, father? We have Cock n Spaniels Whiskey or McDogal's scotch if you'd rather one of them."  
"What you're having is fine, thank you, Preena." Preena poured the red wine into three glasses.

Ham shortly came out and put the photo albums on the counter between them. "As it so happens your daughter is quite photogenic, Mr. Lott."  
"Of course, looks don't get you onto the cover of 'Duck in the Black'." Preena shrugged discouraged, but she smiled as Ham raised his glass to her.

* * *

Grizlykoff stepped through the open doorway of the Mallard's house.

He looked around at his men dismantling the place, pulling out the cushions on the chairs, opening out the drawers of the TV cabinet and meticulously rifling through the contents, leaving no phone bill unturned.

"Have you found anything there?"  
"No sir, just a bunch of home recorded DVDs and monster movies. Obviously a real B Grade buff lives here. 'Attack of the-' oh, look, 'Duckie'!"  
"I beg your pardon, agent?" Grizlykoff frowned. "There is no one here by that name."  
"No, sir, it's a movie." The agent held up the DVD so he could see the cover. "A really good one; it's spurned two sequels and-."  
"Agent, get on with it!" Grizlykoff bellowed. "Ayiee." He ran his hand over his face and turned away from the lounge room.

His second, agent Lanley came up to him. "Here's the briefcase, sir. We've got it open."  
"Gut." Grizlykoff grabbed the case. "This is our only lead as to where he has gone."  
"Sir?"  
"Agent." Grizlykoff said calmly. "This suitcase has the reason that he isn't on a one way trip to Vanuatu right now." He took the handle. "I will peruse this and then I will pursue him." He walked out of the front door.

* * *

Football and cheerleading trophies.

After hours of Preena and Ham's childhood memories as they flicked through the photo albums, Cammy straightened. "Preena, I've been meaning to ask you: what happened between you and your mother?"  
Preena flinched. "We fell out. How did you know that?"  
"You've never asked me to visit you before. Not even to your wedding." He gestured to the wedding photo album they were currently looking through.

Preena shut the album and looked at Ham for help.  
"We had sort of a near death experience at our high school reunion a couple months ago." He recounted.  
Preena shrugged uncomfortably. "It was like a light bulb turned on in my head. I suddenly saw how much I was like mum," she glanced at Ham, "and I didn't like what I saw."

The doorbell rang, interrupting Preena from explaining her epiphany. "Oh, good, that'll be the catering service for the party. Would you get that for us, pumpkin?"  
Ham nodded and went to the door.  
"Party?" Cammy asked in puzzlement, looking back at Preena.  
"Why, your birthday party of course, father." Preena smiled sweetly at him. "I know it's a week late, but there's no better time for a party than when the guest of honour is in actual attendance."

Cammy snorted and opened the wedding album again as people poured in through the doorway and started busying around the room with food platters and such. "I suppose your wedding turned out nice for you, Preena. It looks like it was in the springtime."  
"Uh, yeah." She pulled the book away from him. "Let's think about the future, dad. I want you in my life." She twisted around addressing one of the people; "I turned the bar fridge on this morning. It'll be cold enough now so we can use it." Preena turned back to Cammy. "You must believe me, dad. I'm trying to be a better person."

"Oh, it's not that." He gazed at the catering staff. "It's just ... who on earth are you inviting? I haven't been here for twenty one years."  
"Oh, just a few of our friends." Preena shrugged and refilled his glass again. "You'll like them." She said confidently.

* * *

_"What happens ... if they find out you're ... a security officer?"_  
_"Then Grizz just has an added emotional reason for eliminating his suspect."_

Hooter pondered over the transcript in his hands. "Why does Drake think that being a security officer would upset Grizlykoff?"

There was a knock on the door.  
"Come in." He called out as he continued to stare at the words 'emotional reason', trying to make sense of them.  
"Sir? I didn't know who else to report to. Agent Grizlykoff isn't answering his phone."  
Hooter looked up from the transcript pages. "Judging by the look on your face you've lost something, Agent Lanley."  
"It's Drake Mallard and the girl. Drake didn't leave the house, Gosalyn didn't leave the library. They're just gone. Not a trace."

"Agent Lanley, by that statement, I take it that you've upturned everything in the Mallard's house by now."  
"Yes sir. Per procedure."  
Hooter put down the paperwork. "How did you find the cutlery? The knives? Sharp enough to use as weapons?"  
"Only sharp enough to butter bread with once the butter had melted, sir."

"I see. Call off the house search immediately. Those are my direct orders."  
"Yes, sir." Lanley left the room.

Hooter looked down at the transcript again. " 'Emotional reason'. What a terrible thing to consider earnestly." He pressed the button on the intercom. "Terri, please track down agent Grizlykoff. Have him report to my office immediately." He waited for a response. "Terri?" He checked his watch and saw how late it was, "drat it all."

Hooter got up from his desk and headed for the door. "I want his exact location as soon as possible. And at this hour that means I have to do it myself."

* * *

The party was large. Ham and Preena's 'friends' consisted of business representatives, lawyers, politicians and bank managers with their spouses. Grey suits, black suits and navy suits filled the room. There was the shine of a sleek revealing slip dress here, the colour of a flashy tie there. Everyone had glasses filled with expensive alcohol, courtesy of their ever benevolent hosts, the Strings.

"Here's to my father, Cameron Lott. Happy Birthday."  
"Oh, please, call me Cammy." He flushed hotly. "I'm only forty six; don't make me feel old before my time." Everybody laughed politely.

"Hors d'oeuvre?" The waitress said as Preena stepped up beside Cammy.  
"Oh, thank you." He took an oyster Kilpatrick. "You know, I should be watching my waistline."  
"Oh, nonsense, there's nothing wrong with a man with a healthy appetite." Preena smiled at him. "Why, just look at my Ham. Oh, Carol, how are you?"

Ham was entertaining several distinguished guests with a captivating story. In the absence of anyone else familiar, Cammy sidled in to the conversation.  
"... There were four of you tied up in there?"  
"Yes." Ham answered the stately penguin. "Darkwing Duck barely saved us in time."  
"Gee, it's a sure pity you didn't get to find out who he was under that mask."

Ham's face went completely blank for a moment. "... Sure ... is a pity ..." He said in an emotionless voice. He blinked and the light came back into his eyes. "W-what were we talking about?"  
"Uh ..." The other men glanced at each other. "Darkwing Duck."  
Ham grunted. "Preena's constantly measuring me up against that guy."

"Tell me about it." The penguin groaned in agreement. "My wife keeps going at me too."  
The other men grunted to show their agreement.  
"Every time a light goes out in my house, it's 'Darkwing Duck's taken out a lot more scary light bulbs and you don't ever see him complaining about heights'."  
" 'You don't see Darkwing Duck walk into a barroom brawl in a shabby outfit, so you are not going fishing dressed in that.' "  
"I've always wondered what he's like in real life." The men mused. "You met him, Ham. What was he like?"

"I dunno." Ham shrugged. "Like a stuntman slash magician, I guess?"  
"But what was he like to talk to?"  
Ham's face went blank again.  
"Gentlemen, would you like some more canapés?" The waitress offered them the platter.

"Oh, thank you." When they turned back from the platter, Ham was far away across the room.

"What's going on with the man? That was a trifle weird for him."  
"That's the result of hypnosis." Cammy offered them the information. "I had a conjurer friend once who could do that sort of thing."  
"Could it be the same person?"  
"I doubt it." Cammy frowned. "_She_ ... has been dead for about eleven years." He glanced at them. "Some say she was right up there with the Great Duckini."  
"Wow. What did she do?"  
"The sky was the limit." Cammy crossed his arms across his ample chest. "That woman was a maverick. In the middle of singing an Aria, she'd-."

The penguin laughed. "Well, I doubt we're going to see Darkwing Duck sing any Arias! He comes around in a puff of smoke, knocks out the criminals, and disappears in a puff of smoke."  
"Don't forget that line he always gives out."  
"I am the-whatsit?"  
"Terror that-uh ..."  
"... flaps in the night. Come on guys, it's 'I am the terror that flaps in the night' ..."

Cammy stared at them as they continued to talk about Darkwing Duck. A feeling of familiarity filled him.

"... What was the name of this woman of yours, Cammy? We should look her up on the internet. Your conjurer might have a fan site."  
"Uh ..." Cammy swallowed, realising if he was right he had confidential information on the tip of his tongue. "I don't think so. She wasn't that popular. It was a long time ago. Um, excuse me."


	15. Heartbreak

_'Why?'_

_A/N: The ultimate question is sought but t__he darkness echoes no valid response and not even a word of comfort can be found in the void that is life. And in as much as there is no answer, there lies the truth. _

_'Because such is life.'_

* * *

**Why Do You Miss?**

* * *

Darkwing jumped awake with the sound of a small alarm. He looked around at Morgana's lounge room.

"Morgana?"  
"She's at work, dad." Gosalyn reported, walking into the room. "I think your phone is calling you."  
"Oh." He reached into his pocket and turned it off. "I've slept all those hours away." He realised guiltily as he grabbed a set of suburban clothes from the bundle beside the bag. "Some boyfriend; I didn't even find a decent place to-."  
"What's the alarm for?"  
"It's nearly nine. Eider is expecting me back at Hamil Corp." He went upstairs to get changed.

Gosalyn was waiting when he came back down. "You really trust a bunch of vampires more than you do Agent Grizlykoff, huh?"  
"That kind of says a lot about things, doesn't it? No, these vampires are pretty reasonable."  
"They're still major league dangerous." She hugged him.

"Well, so am I, hon. Now don't forget to-."  
"I won't! Hurry up or you'll be late!" She gave him a gentle shove.

* * *

Drake recalled the security level reception area to mind, bringing the image of the brown painting with its swirling dots to his vision, the way the magazines sat in a perfectly straight stack, the indirect lights here and there, the reception desk to the right ... he felt the air change around him. The smell of spice faded quickly, the only lingering scent was directly on his feathers from using Morgana's shower herbs.

"Oh hello, Drake." Joss stepped out from behind the desk and stood next to him. "Lawrence felt it was important that you go field with us. It would ... encourage teamwork." She hesitated, and held out her hand to him. "I apologise for yesterday. I honestly didn't even think it would affect you like that. I am sorry."

"Well that's ..." He considered this new turn of events. "Thank you." He shook her hand.

Then, conspicuously, she sniffed.  
"Is there anything the matter, Joss?" He asked sweetly.  
"No, just a bit ..." She shrugged uncomfortably. "... You smell a bit like a witch."  
"Don't tell me you've got a problem with witches, Joss?"  
"Uh, no, of course not." She responded quickly. "Here." She handed him the black outfit from the reception desk. "Once you're organised we'll have a briefing session in the control room."

"Huh." Drake took it and headed to the restrooms. "This is a lot easier without that stupid briefcase in tow."

* * *

The party continued on, loud into the night.

Preena cornered her father out on the patio of the high rise penthouse apartment.  
"So ... the top floor, huh?"  
"Yeah, it's not a lot, but we can afford it."  
He snorted into his wine glass. "Preena, I'm not stupid; you're after money. I know these tricks. I lived with your mother for seven years."

Preena's face went back to her usual savage expression. "I think we have some good business deals available between us."  
"You really are just like your mother; always wanting to take a piece out of a guy."

"Mum didn't want a piece of you; she threw you out."

"Of course she'd say that, Preena. Think about it, use your brain. Saying that makes her look good. Just like all these ... associates of yours make you look good. Maybe if you'd married Drakey Mallard you'd be a better person."  
Preena's face went blank. "Drake ... he's a ... really nice person ..."  
"Oh, Preena." Cammy sighed and shook his head, taking another mouthful of wine. "You two got along so well in kindergarten."

"Why'd you come if you knew this was going to dredge up unhappy memories?"  
"Because I wanted to see my daughter again. I mean that, really. I never got to see you growing up; I never got to be around. The closest I got was sending that money through for the private school and for college."

"I didn't go to any private school." Preena frowned at him.  
"Well, that's where your mother said she was sending you. She must've spent it on plastic surgery instead." He shrugged. "I don't care about her anymore. I haven't for a long time." He downed the last of the glass.

"If that was true you wouldn't even need to talk about her."  
He sighed. "You say you're trying to turn over a new leaf, Preena. Keep working on it because you've got a long way yet."  
"Well, thank you for that."  
"No, Preena, I ..." He cursed as he watched her step back inside.

* * *

Grizlykoff entered the Hamil Corp foyer and approached the reception desk.

"Name, sir?" The receptionist looked up at him.  
"I am agent Vladimir Goodenov Grizlykoff investigative agent for S.H.U.S.H. I am looking for an employee of Hamil Corporation named Drake Mallard."

"Just a moment." The receptionist typed as he looked at his screen. "Mr. Mallard is on an induction training schedule at the moment, sir."  
"I'm sure you can find him time to speak to a law enforcement official."  
"Speak?" The receptionist blinked, typing away as he stared at the screen.

"Agent Grizlykoff, what is the meaning of this?"

Grizlykoff turned around, surprised to find his short avian superior standing there behind him. "Ah, Director Hooter. I was just seeing to locate-."

"I've double checked, sir." Grizlykoff turned back to the receptionist as he spoke. "He won't be showing up at the offices at all for the rest of the night. He's scheduled for field training. His section head is in though. I've called Lawrence Eider up to speak with you instead."  
"Field training?" Grizlykoff repeated. "What sort of work is this Drake Mallard doing?"

"Safety, security and pest management."

He and Hooter turned to see a medium sized duck, quite young looking, approaching from the lift area.  
"That's quite a variable list of duties." Hooter commented.  
"Drake Mallard is an invaluable addition with his skills and experience. I'm Lawrence Eider, head of the security department here. Do you have any other questions?"  
"Where is Drake Mallard?" Grizlykoff repeated with a supressed growl.

Lawrence Eider stepped up to Grizlykoff, a thoughtful look on his face. "In the force, we called this sort of thing 'emotionally compromised'."  
"The force?" Hooter repeated in surprise.  
"Check the police records, sir. Lawrence Eider on service to SCPD for eighteen years." Eider turned away. "I know what hampering a police investigation is. On the other hand, I have already spoken with Darkwing Duck. Good evening."

Grizlykoff growled as the department manager turned his back on them and headed back to the lifts. "I would-."  
"That is enough, agent." Hooter admonished.  
"Sir, you must surely see this ... Drake Mallard is merely a house of cards."  
"A house of cards that is still unlikely to have killed Curtis Mane. Come along. We are going to leave this investigation to Darkwing Duck." Hooter moved to the foyer entrance, his agent reluctantly following. "I want to see you in my office expeditiously, agent."

* * *

Given the time was now well past nine in the evening, there was barely any traffic on the roads as Hooter drove back to headquarters, Grizlykoff's van in his rear vision mirror.

A scarce few minutes later, Hooter trotted down the even more deserted corridors of S.H.U.S.H. headquarters and opened the door to his office in complete silence. Grizlykoff followed, an uneasy set of footsteps behind him.

"Close the door, agent."

He heard the click and turned around. "You intercepted Drake Mallard against orders." Hooter announced his underling's error, feeling appalled.  
"We file form with-."  
"There was a reason I assigned Darkwing Duck to the case, Grizlykoff. Drake Mallard is now aware he is under investigation."

"The conversations we collected this morning are nearly fruitless." He gestured to the paperwork in his tray. "Interestingly, Mallard takes a great exception to you." He pointed at Grizlykoff. "So much so that he believes you would harm his daughter. Now, where on earth do you suppose he could have gotten such an impression of you, do you think?"  
"The ... interception."  
Hooter nodded grimly.

Grizlykoff struggled to keep his head up from the chiding. "The object is to prevent Drake Mallard from murdering more people."  
"No, the object is to find out whether he did murder those people in the first place. And if he did, then we stop him. You have made Darkwing's job that much more difficult."

Hooter sat down, calming himself. "Recall your men."  
"But sir, he is a dangerous murderer."  
"There is no proof, agent. And now our investigation is out in the open, we need to deal with it formally. I want all your men recalled from this case, agent. Now."

Grizlykoff straightened. "Yes, sir." He about faced and left the room in a hurry.

* * *

Cammy stepped out of the bathroom and into the corridor.

In the harsh electric light, it was just one of the party goers. "Cammy Lott. I've been waiting all night to get you alone."  
"Yeah?"  
"Do you remember me?"  
"I'm sorry, it takes a while for me to remember a ..." Cammy traced the eyes, the ragged mouth, and the weary toll that years of harsh living had wrought back to their more youthful origins. "Storkein Harris. Oh, my god." He staggered back, his hand to his chest. "You did it, didn't you? You killed Mallard. You ..." His breaths came short. "You ..."

"You returned finally. I've waited for years to get even with the last of you traitors."  
"You don't know yet ... what you've done ... you ..."  
Harris raised the gun, causing Cammy to scream in fear.

* * *

Lott collapsed without him firing a single shot.

Harris came and stooped over the traitor. But before he could think of finishing the job, Preena String and half a dozen other party goers were pouring into the corridor. He quickly pocketed the gun.  
"Who are you?" The business woman had a mind to ask.  
"I think he's having a heart attack."  
"Daddy!" Preena knelt down beside her treacherous father.

"I shall call an ambulance." Harris lied politely before sidling out of the picture and away from the onlookers.

Unwatched, Harris escaped from the apartment and stepped into the lift, grinning.


	16. Cry Vampire

_A/N: "Cry 'havoc!' and let loose the dogs of war" is the actual line from Shakespeare that I learnt from a Klingon. _

_A/N: The term 'beater' that I'm using here is for someone whose task it is to literally 'beat around the bush'. The job is to 'rustle up' or startle the wild game and get it to come out of the denser scrub so the bulk of the hunting party can ... uh ... have at it. _

_A/N: I also want to thank Joss Whedon for _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. _

* * *

**Cry Vampire**

* * *

_Meanwhile ... Audubon National Park._

After a short walk through the woods Drake Mallard stepped out into the clearing after Clive and Joss. Now that they were out in the open he had a proper chance to review his extra fellow team-mates who had joined them along the way. With the addition of four civilians, there were ten in the clearing.

"I was only here last month." Mallard muttered to himself in surprise, looking at all the unfortunate tree stumps around them.  
"Wasn't there a crazy wild bear loose up here then?"  
"Uh-um, I must've just missed him."

"We'll hold up here." Clive said, turning around from inspecting the now-treeless area to frown at Mallard. "Don't you think, Mallard?"  
"There are advantages and disadvantages to working in an open space." Mallard answered. "The prime disadvantage is that you-."  
"Have nowhere to hide?"  
"-Can see them just as well as they can see you." He finished crossly. "Especially when dealing with an opponent who is for lack of a better word bigger than you; the potential surprise advantage is lost."  
"Yeah, well, no worries on this one." Clive patted his shoulder. "He's gonna be heaps surprised when he comes bowling into the lot of us."

"That analogy doesn't promote much confidence, Clive." A civilian woman with spikey bubble-gum pink hair pouted.  
"Don't get all skittle-ish on us, Veri." Another woman with straight blue and black streaked hair teased her. Down to their matching tight leather outfits and fingerless gloves, they were twins. Only their hair distinguished them visually from each other.  
"Oh, grow up, Chris. You're like a zillion years older than me."  
"Twerp, I so-oo am younger than you. You're just mad because I wore the same outfit as you again ..."

Joss spoke up over their bored squabbling voices; "do you want me to describe the Xheklsit again, Mallard?"  
"No. No, I ... heard it the first time loud and clear, thanks." Mallard gripped his quarterstaff. This one didn't have rubber ends and was therefore a potentially lethal instrument. "The others'll lure it out here into the open, and we all ..." He gulped and consciously relaxed his hold on the quarterstaff. "What I wouldn't give for Morgana's freezing hex right about now," he muttered. The idea of killing made him uncomfortable in his own feathers.

"You do realise what would happen if we don't kill it, Mallard?"

"Oh, sure." He frowned at Joss who'd guessed his grievance a little too easily for his liking. "Sure I realise. It'll head back to St. Canard, destroying everything in its way as it does. I just ... don't usually work in large teams."  
"It's pretty simple." Joss said calmly.  
"Stick to the plan as much as possible and chip in where you see an opportunity." Clive explained. "Eventually someone will get through."  
"Then we all eat," added Joss as the others in the group began to form a line across the clearing.

"Eat?" Mallard squawked. "Eider never said anything about eating!"

"Well, look at it this way." Clive shrugged. "If we don't eat it, it'll eat us. And then once it's finished with us appetizers, it'll go rip through St. Canard for the main course."  
"We're the first line."  
"Just us and ... that." Clive pointed in front of them.

* * *

The sound of crashing through the undergrowth heralded the approaching Xheklsit demon.

The two beaters came racing up from that direction and joined the line.  
"Are you alright, Richie?" Joss asked.  
Mallard reviewed the shredded clothes and the smell of singed fur.  
"It's spitting mad." Richie breathed. "I gone and went down and nearly didn't get back up in time."  
"Maybe you should sit this one out." Mallard suggested to the security officer.  
"No way," Richie barked, straightening up. "I've only just gotten started."

* * *

The Xheklsit beast was a sickly yellow. It stood eight feet high and lumbered heavily out into the clearing on its toadstool legs. Four long arms with taloned claws slashed at everything in its way. The demon roared, baring row upon row of sabre fangs at them. In Mallard's opinion it frankly didn't look as surprised to see them as Clive had thought it would be, but it certainly did look spitting mad like Richie had recounted.

"You remember the plan, Mallard?" Joss asked.

"Plan ...?" He repeated the word, trying to grasp its meaning as his mind worked on the extraordinary problem in front of them and the assets they had to stop it. The twins had nothing in their hands and Richie was missing his quarterstaff so he had nothing either.

"Mallard, you do remember the plan?"  
"... Sure; it's a great plan!" He ran forward and joined the circle. He was vaguely aware of Joss cursing behind him.

* * *

There was twelve in the group as they circled around the creature.

"Are we going to reason with it?" Mallard asked hopefully, "try to communicate on some level?" The thing lurched at him and he deflected the blow with the quarterstaff.  
"It's not an alien, Mallard."  
The Xheklsit thrashed out at the speaker who jumped out of the way.  
"It doesn't take superior intelligence to stumble through an inter-dimensional rift." Clive informed him and then used his staff to ward off a strike.

"Oi, you, demon, you wanna talk about this?" Chris with the blue-black hair asked, then jumped back as it spat on the place she was standing.

The grass sizzled.

"You got lost?"  
"Found yourself outside of your own dimension?"  
"You need help to get back?"  
The demon roared in confusion, thrashing out randomly at the voices.

As one of the arms swung around, Mallard ducked and backed up a step. The creature straightened, its attention caught on something. It sniffed the air and then turned right round to stare at Drake Mallard.

"What the heck is it doing?"  
"It's because he smells different from the rest of us." Joss said. "He's marinated in a witch's brew."  
"I am not marinated!" He snapped defiantly at Joss as the creature took a heavy step towards him.  
"Yikes! Get out of there, Mallard!"

* * *

The creature sniffed at him, its yellow slitted eyes glared at him as it advanced. "I'll give you some advice," Mallard said unfazed as he stood his ground, "you're outnumbered and we're armed." With the gigantic creature's attention on Drake Mallard, half a dozen vampires began advancing on it from behind. "You should retreat back to where you came from."

"Also, you don't want to take me on specifically," Mallard continued gamely, "because I'll win."  
The Xheklsit demon flung out its four arms, quite suddenly knocking the approaching vampires off their feet. It grabbed Mallard, raising him high into the air, opened its mouth wide, and then dropped him in.

Someone shrieked.

* * *

Mallard thrust the quarterstaff in sideways, trapping the beast's mouth open and he perched, balancing aerobatically on top.

"I'd hate to be your dentist," Mallard commented, "you could seriously use some mouthwash."  
The demon struggled with the steel stick caught in its mouth. With a toss of its head it threw the duck wide.  
He landed with a roll on the ground beside a large tree and jumped back up to a stand. He brushed the stray bits of grass and leaves from his training outfit. "Everyone's a critic," he muttered and looked up.

From all around the vampires advanced on the momentarily distracted demon. Just as its acid saliva melted away the wedged metal pole they went into a frenzy. Mallard cringed, feeling his stomach turn. He quickly shut his eyes, listening to the grotesque sounds as the vampires ripped into their prey.

* * *

Drake Mallard edged back, keeping his eyes firmly shut, and bumped into the tree. Using it as an aid, he slipped behind it and leaned against the large trunk, taking deep calming breaths.

He really didn't like the idea of being part of killing anything. How many times had he thought he'd killed Bushroot? He'd lain awake for hours, wondering if he'd really done it that time. Hoping that he hadn't, cursing himself for not having handled the situation better. If only he could find a better solution, of course he'd try it! He agreed completely with Rex Euston. He blinked back tears, clenching his fists. This was not a good time to start thinking.

"Drake?" The female voice cooed in the dark as if looking for him.

"Dra-ake." Another voice sang his name, closer than the last one.

* * *

He listened to the sound of many soft footsteps on the grass and dirt coming in his direction.

"Oh, Dra-ake."

"No ... not Drake."

"What is it, like some sort of drug?" He snarked. As he searched for the word to describe his impression of them, they came around the tree, slinking, leisurely and catlike. In the shadow of the tree there wasn't a difference left between them as they all gazed at him with glowing yellow eyes; the same colour as the demon's eyes. "... You're all possessed!" He concluded in horror. "What're the procedures for a vampire exorcism?" He spluttered; "or, that is to say eleven vampire exorcisms?"

One of them cackled.  
"You seem to think I'm joking!"  
They grabbed him into the centre of them, sniffing at him, trailing fingers across his training outfit. He squirmed, trapped between them, suffocating under their fierce attention.

"Darkwing Duck."

Fear gripped his insides, solid in his stomach. They'd figured it out.  
"Smell that."  
"Turning right into fury now."  
"If I wasn't darn full already." There were murmurs of pleasure all around him.

"If you haven't noticed, I gave blood only yesterday." He retorted aggressively. "I have no more to spare."  
"All the more reason."  
He made to pull away from the group and found their numerous tight grips on his arms kept him still.  
"We're not going to leave you, brother. And there is plenty to share."  
Someone cackled behind him. "Oh, so much to share."

One of them put their hand to his chest. He felt his feathers prickle as his skin beneath tingled.  
"Relax."  
"Take it in."  
"Absorb it."

Considering the current absence of options to put up a fight, it didn't seem like too tall an order to comply. Mallard closed his eyes and did his best to allow his body to relax.

As he eased up, he could better sense the surge of energy filling the air around him. The dull ache that had plagued him for the last couple of days didn't seem to be so bad. When he decided it had to be his Vespers doing this, the understanding allowed him to relax even more.

Then there came a new voice filling his head. Different from any voice he'd ever heard. It echoed like a choir in his mind, singing in an etheral lilt of time and a life intranssient.

It took Mallard a moment to deduce where the voice was coming from. He opened his eyes, raising his vision to the branches above them. "The tree! I can hear it singing!"  
"Yes, of course."  
He pulled away from the slackened grip and the singing in his head stopped. "How did you guys do that?"

"You just did it too. For a moment, you did."  
"Haven't you ever heard a tree sing before?" They circled him, slinking again.  
"What did I do just then?"  
"Communion, Darkwing Duck; plants are the experts. They do it all the time."  
Richie cocked his head. "We make food for them. The plants feed on us."  
"From the soil, to the air, to the water and back."  
Mallard swallowed, shaking his head at this. "You've all had too much demon. You're drunk on it. There's no point arguing with me when you're all finishing each other's statements."  
A woman, Veri? Or was this Chis? She half laughed; "yeah, you're right."

One of them clasped his shoulder. "Darkwing Duck ... in the feathers."  
"What makes you think I'm Darkwing Duck?"  
"Hoh-ney," Joss's voice cooed in benign amusement from somewhere to his left.  
Clive reported: "You defeated the Xheklsit demon by letting it drop you into its array of razor sharp jagged teeth and burning acid saliva."  
"There's only one person that'd do something that crazy and pull it off."  
"And that's Darkwing Duck."

Mallard pulled away from them and looked at them all. "You're all animals." They gazed yellowly back at him. "You know that, right? The way you ... that was uncivilised, totally ... beyond barbaric, it was plain animal."  
"We're in control of ourselves."  
"Are you? Are you sure? Why am I not convinced?"

The vampires crowded around him again, their very personal attention on both the tree and him.  
"Brother, you're so worn out."  
"Let us feed you."

Backing up from the excessively clingy drunken vampires, Mallard banged against the tree. He looked up into the canopy, distracted in his rememberance of the oh-so-incredible sound of it. A sudden need took over like an ache in his body, a wishing desire; he wanted to hear that timeless voice of tanquility in his mind again.  
"Relax."  
He took a calming breath and felt his feathers prickle again as his Vespers once again hooked into the surge of energy around him.

And then the tree sang.


	17. Torture Me

_A/N: Surely nothing as fascinating as __Joey The Ripper's _Nat and Negaduck escapade, but none-the-less it is finally here: the chapter I promised nobody was coming I'd have baked a cake and four and twenty blackbirds somehow fit into a pie ... darn it I left my corkscrew in the oven and I seem to be accumulating grog at one wine bottle a year ... cheers, long life and stupidity, serendipity and have another Quackerjack on the house with the pogo stick, Colonel Mustard in the drawing room with the pencil, Miss Scarlet - don't bring her into this mess it's bad enough already you'll wake the dead with that moaning and what would your mother say about that loose shoe and the tardy slip back in time, gotta get back in ti-i-i-ime ... it always comes to this, you must remember this: a kiss is just a kiss a sigh is still a sigh ... the fundamental things of life as time goes by.

* * *

**Torture Me**

* * *

It was three o'clock in the morning as Morgana reviewed her lounge room and re-fluffed the cushions on the chair yet again.

She was waiting for her boyfriend to return and it had preoccupied her mind for hours now. Morgana wouldn't have ordinarily been this worried, but considering vampires were involved in his latest tangle, there was an inkling of concern at the back of her mind. If it had been just Grizlykoff or the Fearsome Five it wouldn't have bothered her, but in her private opinion vampires were in a class of their own when it came to being dangerous.

Hours earlier when Morgana returned from the restaurant she'd found that Darkwing had already woken and headed off to his new, rather questionable job. In his place, Gosalyn had fallen asleep on the armchair in front of her mathematics book. "It certainly is a popular chair." The hostess commented aloud.

Leading Gosalyn upstairs and tucking the groggy duckling into bed had been a novel experience for Morgana. "I could get used to it." She heard her own voice and smiled guiltily to herself for saying such a thought out loud.

Morgana continued in her musings on Gosalyn as she put the ten-year-old's schoolbooks into a neat stack on the coffee table. 'I don't really have a lot of things for a child to do in this place. Hmm.' She had a sudden inspiration about this. "Maybe I could fetch her something from the stores? Archie? You know. What does a Normal ... Archie?" Morgana looked around for her familiar but only the sound of the wind and the gentle scratching of a tree bough against a nearby window pane answered her. There was not even the slightest flutter of wings in the house. "Dinnertime." Morgana at once realised she'd been so preoccupied with her visitors she'd barely registered her friends leaving perhaps half an hour ago.

The weathervane ward on the roof let out a crack of thunder warning Morgana that someone was coming up the pathway. Moments later there was a knock on the front door. 'Now who could this be?' She considered the late hour and, readying a lightening spell as a safety precaution, she went and opened the door.

Morgana relaxed as she saw her boyfriend standing on her porch. "Oh, good, Dark; you're alright." She moved aside for him to come in.  
"I'm glad for the prognosis." Drake remarked as she closed the door behind him. "You look as beautiful as ever, Morg."  
Morgana turned back to him, feeling her cheeks grow warm from the compliment. "Why, thank you, Dark."

Drake had a decidedly placid look on his face as he opened his beak to speak again. "Of course that's nothing to compare to the wonderful and sensitive person that you are on the inside." He added to his earlier compliment with the kind of eloquence he usually only had when gibing a criminal. "If it isn't just your eyes it's the way you talk to me; you can make anything interesting."  
So many words of endearment and in coherent sentences? Morgana blinked at Drake, looking him over a second time, feeling slightly alarmed. Drake's feathery complexion did look decidedly more pale than usual. She'd initially discounted it because she knew from experience that black clothes tended to do that to a person and right now black covered him from head to foot. Of course those vampires could easily have done something else to him, Morgana took a steady breath, 'maybe I was a tad early to conclude that he was alright?' "Dark, snookums, what happened tonight?"

"Wait, Morg, let me finish." He took a breath. "While I'm still thinking, I want to tell you something important a-about myself." He blushed.

"You can tell me anything, Dark." Morgana affirmed, "you know I do try not to get cross and I prefer our relationship to be based on honesty."  
He nodded, taking a moment to pace himself. "It comes to my attention that I don't like Herb Muddlefoot's coconut burgers." He suddenly announced out of the blue and in no uncertain terms. "Every time I get shanghaied into one of their barbecues he's there with those coconut burgers." Drake groaned miserably.  
"You don't even like your next door neighbour's cooking?" Morgana blinked in astonishment.  
"Not even Launchpad's brownies." Her rather delicate boyfriend grimaced, clutching his stomach. "It's his favourite snack. I made the mistake of trying them once and I was very sorry for it." He took a moment, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath. "Everyone loves your food, Morg." He blinked up at her. "I love that you love cooking food. But I'm a duck who doesn't even eat anchovies, much less chilli." He blanched.

"By you saying that, I take it everyone else eats these things?" Morgana asked as she raised an eyebrow.  
"I certainly don't set out to be difficult." Drake's cheek plumage tinged pink as he blushed again. The fact that he could go pink reassured Morgana that the vampires at least hadn't been snacking on him. "I know I'm the odd duck out and ..." Drake raised an eyebrow. "Actually, that pretty much sums up my life," he gestured widely with his arms and shook his head. "But every time I try to jump this particular gap between us I fail and we end up having a fight." Drake sighed, a lost expression on his face.  
"Yes, Dark, I've managed to come to this conclusion myself." Morgana sighed as well. "But tell me; why are we discussing this at three o'clock in the morning while agent Grizlykoff is out there looking for you? I would've thought he would be the the first thing on your mind when you came home tonight."

"Then I should tell you now." He frowned at her, staring into her eyes. "Every time I walk up your pathway you are the first thing on my mind."  
"Oh, yes." Morgana mentally slapped herself. "Obviously."

Drake's eyes sharpened and he then grinned calculatively at Morgana. "It first occurred to me at the door when I discovered that I wasn't tongue-tied." St Canard's ducktective at large continued to lay out his line of deduction to her in his usual conviction-filled voice. "I then decided that it was an excellent opportunity to discuss our number one issue. Secondly, I know you like cooking, and as Gosalyn and I are staying here with you you'll only logically want to cook for us." He paused, his expression softening as he looked into her eyes. "I love you just to know that."  
Morgana was overwhelmed and all she could voice in response was "oh, Dark."

"Tongue-tied or not this is still very hard." He frowned to himself and folded his arms across his chest. "I never like to admit that I have any weaknesses."  
"Neither do I, Dark." Morgana smiled wanly. "But we are only human after all."  
"In my case it's my stomach that's human!" Her wilful other half grumbled. "It argues with anything too spicy for it. I haven't got a choice."

Morgana studied his expression. "It's easy to make things less spicy, Drake," she accepted, "but I thought you didn't like the names either."  
"What's in a name?" He shuddered. "They're really just words, aren't they?"  
"This is ...!" Morgana's joy halted abruptly as the expression on his face properly registered in her mind. It was a mixture of pain and stubborn defiance.  
"Hot do-og, mushroom sssoup ... whatever." Drake cringed "not me," he insisted, "I'm ... fine."

Morgana realised he was saying it was more to himself than to her. "You'd better be or you'll starve to death." Morgana put her hands on her hips matter-of-factly, then opened her eyes wide, realising what might have brought this on. "Oh, my goodness, those vampires didn't actually ... not ... in front of you? Surely?"  
"What are those crumbed things with the tail up in the air?" Drakee asked, quickly changing the subject.  
"You mean the cobra cutlets?"  
"Yes. Aren't cobras venomous, Morgana?"  
"Not by the time I'm finished preparing it, Drake." Morgana put her hands on her hips again, feeling her dignity slightly inflamed. "And I am always careful. This is why I have to spend so long supervising my trainees at the restaurant."

"That sounds fine." Drake replied quickly. "It sounds safe. It sounds rational."  
Morgana felt hopeful on that statement. "Maybe I should be teaching you how to cook Monster food? This way you can see how 'rational' it all really is." She turned from him, and headed to the kitchen, feeling excitement creeping up on her.  
"Rational is good." He voiced, following behind her. Corn flakes ... cobra cutlets, liver-wurst, mayonnaise, ketchup, honey ... meatloaf, blackbird pie, grub and cockroach pizza ..."

"Oh, that's nonsense, Dark. What sane person would ever put cockroaches on a pizza?"  
"Your uncle Nero as I recall liked grub and cockroach pizza."  
"Oh yes." Morgana shook her head. "So he did. Well, it certainly doesn't detract from my statement, Dark, considering that he also tried to eat Launchpad."  
"Twice." Drake added as if that fact exemplified the level of insanity of the mutant fungus.

* * *

Drake followed Morgana into the kitchen area, pondering her words. This room was large and ancient, matching the rest of his girlfriend's house. Morgana stepped around the large wooden table and zapped the fire into existence in the open hearth and then crossed to the sink with the kettle. The Dogwood Mix-Master 3000 that Drake had gotten Morgana for her birthday sat prominently on the mantelpiece beside a stack of baking trays, making Drake feel appreciated. Of course, it was a very good kitchen utensil, a much newer model than his trusty old 360 that he'd used to make carrot cake for school fetes since he was eight.

Morgana finished filling up the kettle from the tap and put it on the hook to heat over the fire. Her actions drew Drake's attention to the flames and the events of his week flashed back to him, ending back at the beginning with his rescuing the infant from the burning apartment complex. The nerve of Grizlykoff to think that he, Drake Mallard, unblemished record and all round upstanding citizen would perpetrate such a horrendous act! 'Well, I always knew he had a screw loose.' Drake reasoned to himself as he watched the flames flicker in the hearth. Grizlykoff might be just a bull in a china shop when it came to collecting evidence, but he had a whole team of experienced S.H.U.S.H. agents to discover the trap door for him. If it wasn't for Morgana's hospitality, Gosalyn and Drake could possibly have already been lost in the proverbial fire, smouldering away into the ashes of history.  
"Thanks again for helping us, Morg." Drake said to his very gracious hostess and girlfriend. "I can't trust the Tower anymore."

"And Eider?" Morgana queried. She was selectively removing items from out of her cupboards and depositing them on the table. 'Thinking with her hands', Drake noted abstractly. This piece of information wasn't exactly relevant at this moment but he filed it away for future reference.  
"I trust him." Drake paused, rethinking Eider's way of introducing him to vampire habits. "That is ..."  
"More than Director Hooter?"  
"What is it about J Gander Hooter?" He countered her question in perfect puzzlement. "Is it something obvious that I'm missing?"

Morgana paused, a container filled with a yellow substance in her hand. "It's the same in the hospitality industry, Dark. I look at it from the point of view of my restaurant. It is my reputation, not to mention my livelihood and therefore my responsibility to ensure my chefs and kitchen hands know how to safely remove venom sacs from the cobras prior to cooking them for my customers." She put the container on the table.  
"Grizlykoff sure does need de-venom-ing!" Drake snorted, now understanding; "I get it now. It's like being a parent. Hooter is responsible to reign his agents in and if they're loose that's his responsibility to fix it." He nodded. "Thanks, Morg."  
"Oh, my pleasure, dark." Morgana blushed.

Drake pulled out a chair from under the table and spied Archie on the seat. He scooped him up and put his girlfriend's familiar on the table. The spider grumbled at him and skittered to the far end of the table out of the way of Morgana's growing collection. Meanwhile Morgana was putting down yet another jar.

"Morg, I need to tell you what happened to me tonight, so you can tell me if I'm going crazy under the pressure."  
"Whatever it is, Dark, you certainly don't sound crazy to me." Morgana replied in a confident tone as she spooned something blue into a teapot and the now magically free-floating kettle poured hot water into the pot.  
Drake sighed, automatically relieved at the sound of certainty in her voice. "Did I mention that you're beautiful, Morg?"  
She smiled warmly back at him and poured a cup of steaming tea and handed it to him. The drink had a mild, familiar smell; perhaps like something out of a garden he'd once visited? "Go on, Drake. Tell me what happened tonight."

Drake blew away the steam from the hot drink. He kept to his resolution and steeling his nerves, he took a sip. There was the barest trace of flavour but the smell seemed to calm his anxiety. "Eider allowed me to 'discover' a few disturbing things about vampires tonight."

After swirling the leaves in the pot a few more times Morgana poured herself a cup as well and then sat down on the chair beside him. "Did you ask for an explanation from him of why he did this, Dark?"  
Drake shook his head. "I didn't get a chance. Joss dropped me off at your gate on her way home. The possibilities are none-the-less two: either Eider legitimately forgot to mention it or he conveniently 'forgot' to mention it. The fact remains that I became caught between those vampires." He rubbed his head with a sigh. "And then something happened."  
"I can't imagine how a group of vampires might act." Morgana remarked. "One rarely comes across a single vampire. How did they act in this group?"  
Drake swallowed another mouthful of his weakly steeped tea. "They call it 'communion'."  
"Ah, I know that one." Morgana nodded. "Do you want to know what sort of herb is in your tea?"  
Drake eyed the cup in his hands with a frown. "I do know that smell but I can't place it at the moment. But I think I'll just trust your judgement for the moment, Morg ... that is if you don't mind."  
"Not at all, Dark." She beamed at him. "What a lovely compliment."  
Drake sat there for a moment, sipping the hot flavoured water.

"The judgement I'm not sure on is the guys I was just with." He ventured into the events of his evening as he tapped his forefinger on the table for emphasis. "I know that if I'd just stayed watching those vampires, I'd be saying it was something to do with what they ate, Morgana. But I've been thinking that they may have shared what they ate with me too, through the Vespers." Drake sat back against the wooden back of his chair. "There's still quite a lot I'm not understanding about what my Vespers actually do. Tonight, I think somehow they connected me to the vampires, and then to the tree." Drake leaned in closer to her. "Morgana ... I heard the tree singing."  
"Dark!" Morgana exclaimed joyously, dashing all his fears that there was something wrong with him. "Darling! Archie tells me that most Normals never get to hear the trees."  
"Yeah ..." Drake gazed back at her, feeling her positive take on the situation both reliving and catching.

"I've read about this. If the vampires were all full, they may have used you as a repository for excess energy. It's quite possible in a communion."  
He narrowed an eye at Morgana. "If they do come back to collect they'll find out first hand that no single vampire's a match for Darkwing Duck!" Drake gulped and chuckled nervously. "On the other hand, tonight there were eleven vampires ... and I wasn't exactly armed."  
"Eleven vampires." Morgana had a dazed expression. "Can you do it again?" She moved her chair closer to his. "Open your energy field like you did to hear the tree sing?"  
"I think so, Morg." Drake closed his eyes thinking about how he'd done it earlier, and managed to open his energy field up again.

Morgana was suddenly all around him. She pushed her beak against his, her hands against his chest.  
Before Drake could remind her of who she was and where they were, he felt her in his mind, coiling mentally around him, impossibly close. Incredibly hungry...

'Oh, Dark.'

...But he didn't care. The term of endearment faded any concern at all. If she did happen to swallow him whole he would have let her do it.

Moments later he felt her energy field flowing back to replenish him like a breath of fresh air. 'Oh, Morg ...' he sighed, 'I love you ...'

After a long eternal moment Morgana pulled away and sat back on her own chair again. "Are ... you alright, Dark? Did I ... did I hurt you?"  
"I'm ..." Drake turned from her to stare at the table top, getting a handle on the conflict in his head and the sudden tension in his muscles. "Morgana, we're not ..." He closed his eyes, dragging in a steadying breath. Half of him wanted so desperately to get close to her again, and the other more logical half was screaming back that it was not the right thing to do. It seemed like a very long moment as he fought himself before finally coming to a decision of what he needed to do now.

"That was ... Between us it was ... We shouldn't have done that. If I'd known what it was about, I wouldn't have done it. Morg-Morgana we're not ..."  
"Oh, no, Dark, please! I'm sorry if I hurt you, I ..."  
"I-I'm fine, Morg-ana." Drake stood up and moved a step away from her, swallowed and turned back to look her in the eye. Yes, he was in control. "Morg. Let's not do that sort of thing again until after we're married, okay?" He stated, concreting his resolution to do the right thing by saying it out loud. "Th-that'll give us both something to look forward to." He leaned forwards and kissed her for a long moment. He pulled back feeling himself shaking. The temptation was all the harder now for knowing the taste of it.

"I-I'd better get some sleep while I've got the chance." He stepped away towards the doorway. 'A shower might be a good idea first ...'  
"Oh, okay, Dark. But ..." Morgana said in emotional confusion. "Please tell me. Is there something else that's wrong?"  
Drake turned back to Morgana. "Now that you mention it, I happen to be the father of an incredibly inquisitive ten year old child." He explained tensely. "I can only pray that she was asleep and wasn't watching us do that. It's hard enough teaching her to behave right usually. It hasn't escaped my notice that it's almost impossible for her to learn to do the right thing when I don't do it myself." He blushed.  
"It wasn't ..." Morgana hesitated. "It wasn't physical."  
Drake raised an eyebrow at her and folded his arms, watching the realization dawn on her fine features.  
"Oh, my! I ... I didn't even think of it like that, Drake. I ..."

"It's okay, Morgana." He sighed, relieved slightly that they were on the same page at last. "I may be a little obsessed with doing the right thing but I think its especially important to get it right between us and I want to do the right thing by Gosalyn and by you." Another ache coursed through him as he took in the sight of her sitting so lovely on the chair before him, gazing back at him. He closed his eyes and turned back to the kitchen door. "I need to check on Gosalyn." He decided aloud. A little distance and time should help him get control of himself again.

* * *

Archie watched Morgana's boyfriend depart in a stilted fashion. He was impressed and rather relieved at the duck's decision.  
"Archie, what just happened?"  
He crawled across the table so he was in front of her. 'Oh, and now you are interested in what I have to say, child?' Archie grumbled. 'You were not listening all that long while.'  
"That was beyond my ability for self-control!" Morgana was on the verge of tears. "Please, I am listening now." Morgana begged for lenience. "Please, Archie."

'I warned you some time ago, that if you wanted to keep him you should treat him equally.' Archie reminded her.  
"I really couldn't help it, Archie. I will be sure not to push him to open his energy field again." She brushed back tears. "To think I could've hurt him."  
Archie knew one thing clearly and that was he and his mistress were once again not on the same page. 'Is that the point, my dear?'  
"Isn't it?" Morgana scratched her head in confusion. "I-I thought it was."  
'In the normal realm at least, if a relationship is not tempered in both the realm of physicality and the world of thought, then the balance will tip between them and all may be lost.'  
"Oh," Morgana sobbed, "I don't want that to happen."

"What to happen?"

Archie looked up on Drake's voice to find him standing in the doorway again.  
"That was quick. How's Gosalyn?" Morgana asked.

"She's tucked in bed." Drake stepped towards the table, eyeing the spices and tools, picking up the brown jar Morgana had used to make the herbal tea with. To Archie it was always a relief to see the gleam of that alert curiosity that Morgana's chosen had when employing his intelligence and he had it now.

The duck opened the jar of dried lavender and sniffed before replacing it on the table. "Not to cast any untoward suspicions, Morgana, but I can't help but feel that you and Archie were talking about me before you heard my voice." He sat down on the chair looking at Archie. "I'd love to know what he's saying to you all the time, Morgana. Archie," he corrected himself swiftly and addressed Archie properly, which was a nice development for Archie. "I hope you're on my side when you're giving her all these words of wisdom." Drake glanced up at Morgana and raised an eyebrow at her. "You're not saying anything, Morgana?"  
"Dark," she swallowed. Archie sensed she was still quite upset over losing control earlier. "What I just did ..."  
"I really am fine, Morg." Drake narrowed his eyes, "and I know the reason for that is because you opened your field as well. The same thing happened with the vampires earlier. One thing I understand of this communion thing is that when everybody opens their fields nobody gets hurt."

He yawned. "I feel like I can get to sleep now. Good morning, Morg." He blushed. I'm sorry I fell asleep on your chair yesterday. That wasn't ..."

"You were very tired, honey-whumpus; I understand. Good morning, Dark."

* * *

After Drake left Morgana tidied up the kitchen and then took Archie up on her shoulder, carrying him up to her bedroom and sat down on the edge of her bed. He could sense the questions swirling through her mind.  
"Archie, I need your honest opinion about Dark."

'Not I, Morgana. Eek and Squeak are the experts on this topic.'  
"No, Archie, you. He is scheming and cunning; it is you I need."  
Archie's resolution failed as Morgana cradled him on her lap and patted him. He closed his eyes, aware yet helpless to her weaselling ploy. 'Very well, Morgana. Ask your question.'  
"Does he trust me?"  
Archie blinked up at his mistress. 'He is here, Morgana. The assumption of your aid is evidence of his trust. He would not be here if he did not trust you.'  
"For a time this morning I thought I'd lost him."

Archie sighed. Instead of answering straight away he jumped out of her hands and scampered across the floor, climbing up the wall to his hammock on the mantelpiece before responding. He took his time in this way to make sure his charge was listening carefully. 'It is a cautionary tale. More care on your part is in order, child.' He thought to her with finality as she looked back at him. 'Or else even Darkwing Duck may make a false assumption and that would be a great sadness to me.'

Morgana's eyes filled with tears. "I thought I'd hurt him." She took a slow breath to help calm herself. "But he said he was fine."  
'Your urge to devour him is tempered by your desire to keep him.' Archie noted to her, paraphrasing Darkwing's rationalisation of her actions.  
"I should explain this to him."  
'No; I meant that this is his conviction. This is how he trusts you. Sleep now, Morgana.'  
"But then what is your warning for?"  
'It is a cautionary tale.' He repeated his words.  
"Yes! What do you mean by that, Archie?"

Finally she was open to listen. "There is a fine line and you must be careful of it. On one side your chosen one learns quickly especially when his ego is at his back. On the other side of the line he does not wish to treat you badly and this is why he does not wish to advance too quickly.'

"Why, Archie, that sounded almost like you like him." She crossed to the mantel and patted him.  
'Child,' Archie grumbled determinedly, 'I do not interfere with your choices. These are my interpretations of facts and I was explaining why you need to be careful with your chosen.' Archie decided he needed to restate the obvious. 'His ego is rampant and it fuels his actions. I cannot see how-.'  
"Oh, Archie. I'm happy to know I'm included in his assumptions at last." She clasped her hands together in happiness. "He trusts my judgement!"  
Archie frowned at her, uncomfortably uncertain himself. 'It is good he has his own judgement also.'

There was a flutter of wings and Morgana and Archie turned to the open window as Eek and Squeak flew in.  
Eek landed on the edge of the bed and Squeak dropped a grasshopper in front of Archie on the mantelpiece, hopping back.  
'Blergh.' Archie grimaced at his dinner. 'Thank you, Squeak.'  
'You're welcome, Archie.'  
"Eek, Squeak. Did you have a nice flight?" Morgana smiled at them.

So long as Morgana was happy, that was a good outcome, wasn't it? Archie listened in passively as the others chattered away with Morgana, eyeing his food. He was hungry enough to eat a grasshopper. He seized it and bit into it. He looked back up, following the conversation.  
'Yes, thank you.' Squeak chirruped.  
'Did we miss anything?' Eek peeped.  
"Darkwing returned from being with the vampires."  
'Oh!' Squeak exclaimed with a loud squeak. The two bats were slightly upset at this news. Archie knew these two romantics would be upset for only one reason.

'We missed it.'  
'We waited for so long but we just got so hungry.' Squeak chattered unhappily.  
'Did you fight about anything?'  
"No, Eek." Morgana answered. Archie privately agreed that it had gone well this time but only because it was specifically Darkwing Duck whose voluntary actions always had to be 'right' in his mind.

"I was a bit worried for a while but it all turned out in the end." Morgana answered happily. Then she yawned. "I think it's time for bed. Goodnight dears."  
'Yes. Goodnight, Morgana.' Archie sent his last conversational thought to her before he centered his attention on dinner.

* * *

_A/N: That'll keep Archie occupied for a little while._

___A/N: The objective to supply real time plot has forced me up this particularly dark back-alley of writing style. __Boy howdy but this was the only way I could do it. And here I am talking to myself *rolls eyes* yet again. _

_____A/N: BTW I lied earlier. My corkscrew is attached to my penknife which lives permanently in the little storage room off to the side of my carport._

_____A/N: So now you see why I try to keep my stories in the action genre._


	18. Lunch Call

_A/N: Wunderbar und glockenspiel! Ich habe die antwort gefunden! _

_A/N to self: Quick, post it before it runs away!_

_A/N: Believe it or not, but the things we experience in life help us to write. _

* * *

LUNCH CALL

* * *

Vladimir Goudenov Grizlykoff stared at the alarm clock beside his bed.

6.00.  
7.29.  
8.34.  
8.57.  
9.01.  
9.04.  
9.05.  
9.05.  
9.06.

"Enough of this." Vladimir sighed and pushed his covers off. He looked in his cupboard for something to wear, staring past all his suits and fumbled in the back for a T-shirt instead. He discovered he didn't have many to choose from. "I shall go for a walk." He decided in his fit of boredom and went looking in his drawer for his jeans.

* * *

It wasn't fair. How could Director Hooter pull him off this case? Was he really being emotional? No! Grizlykoff sighed and turned his laptop on to check his emails. He clicked on the new message that he knew would be filled with long fancy words and plenty of advice.

_'My dear VG._

_It is good to hear word from you although I am sorry to find you not of happier spirits._

_I must say that "emotionally compromised" is quite a dramatic claim to place upon the mind of any upholder of the justice system. I am gratified you think so highly of me as to turn to me for advice! Frequently it is simple words that have proven the most powerful tools in the world because they can shake the very foundations of understanding. Words can twist truth into lies and confuse truth with deceit and this has been the way of words since the dawn of civilisation. In such cases like this I recommend that an individual considers two things: the validity of the source and the credence to the argument they have espoused. It is only you that can make the decision of what you are going to do with these words that have been spoken._

_As you embark upon your quiet day of rest do not dishearten. Use your time to contemplate and perhaps you might reawaken your faith in the truths that you know of the world. Try and remember, Vladimir, that there is no need to carry so much of the world upon your shoulders. Have faith that your system will work._

_Perhaps if you can find the time you would care to visit?_

_Emery Tibold Grizlykoff'_

Vladimir grunted as he slowly deciphered his brother's prose on the screen. "Emery, I have not yet explained to you Darkwing Duck ..." He pressed the reply icon to tell his brother about the Duck that was out there ... out of control, not following proper protocol and without the due paperwork filed. The bear shuddered in horror. "Aiyee."

"That chaotic and unruly individual!" He rubbed his eyes. Duck amok and bear down ... Then he jolted in shock as a terrifying idea dawned on him.  
He really was emotionally compromised. Not about the case ... but about Darkwing Duck. Vladimir's tendency to interfere and try to bring order and legitimacy to Darkwing's methods was exactly why Hooter had taken him off this case.

He stared at the blank email. "Yes, so I know the problem." He sat back in his chair. "So then ... I must make it not a problem." He rubbed his head. "Impossible." He muttered. "What does Hooter see in that gossamer duck?" He asked himself.

The laptop buzzed electrically back at him in the stillness of his flat.

"I just do not know." He thought for a moment and summing up his problem he typed back in reply of his brother, attempting to reply in the same tone.

'Thank you, Emery for your insight.

How I wish I were calm like you always are, my brother.' He paused. 'Perhaps next week when this case is finalised then there will be time for us to speak in person.

Your brother,

Vladimir Goudenov Grizlykoff.'

* * *

Vladimir went out and walked absently through the streets.

For the first time since joining S.H.U.S.H. he was having a forced day off. Was he really being emotional about his ad hoc cohort? This notion did not sit well in his stomach. No, he did not feel very happy at all that he was wrong about Darkwing Duck. This wallowing in misery was sickening also. He stared into the window of a garden shop. He needed a distraction from his thoughts.

He paused, looking at the purple and yellow spotted plants alongside the monsteria delicosia and his stomach grumbled with hunger, making him realise that it must be past lunchtime. He didn't feel like rich food from a cafe. What about the carnival on the docks? He was heading in that direction and surely there would be a hotdog vendor there? He started walking with a defining purpose now: food.

* * *

"Way to go, dad." Gosalyn patted Drake's arm encouragingly. "You ate all of your Shock Steak."

'I'm guessing Morgana put only a little Shock in that steak.' Drake glanced up at Morgana, recalling how carefully she had portioned out the meal. "Thank you for dinner, Morgana." Drake said, eyeing Gosalyn pointedly as he started stacking the dishes together.  
"Yeah, that was awesome, as usual!" Gosalyn chimed in agreement.

Before she could respond the doorbell rang and Morgana went to answer it. Drake handed a carefully loaded pile of plates to Gosalyn and started collecting the condiments from the table.

"It's for you, Drake." Morgana called.

Drake abandoned Morgana's formal dining room and rushed to the door. He found his new supervisor Lawrence Eider standing on the porch, stifling a yawn.

"Good afternoon, Drake. The CEO wants to talk to you."

* * *

It was nothing like Hooter's office. The CEO's office at the Hamil Corporation was new age and lacking entirely in the personality department. Drake Mallard stepped through the open doorway without the dramatic entrance of Darkwing Duck to reinforce his confidence.

The large chair was facing an even larger screen on the wall beside them. In the chair sat a familiar black haired vampire.  
"Hello, Malduck. If I am not mistaken you have something for me?"  
"Hello, Drake. It has not escaped my attention that you have a problem." Malduck twisted her chair to face him properly and clasped her fingers as she looked up at him with her dark eyes.  
"So I take it that Rattray isn't back from his holiday yet." Drake sat down in the chair opposite the acting CEO.  
"It might surprise you, Drake, but not all vampires are soldiers like you or I."  
"I'm not a soldier. If I were, I wouldn't be faced with this nightmare because I'd be one of hundreds of others, following orders. Letting criminals slip by while I'm too busy filing paperwork."  
"Oh! All that hot blood in you." The master gazed at him. "What if I used the term 'Peacekeeper' instead?"

"I don't care what you call it." Drake stated pointedly. "The only job I'm interested in doing is the one that involves me making my own decisions about what's right and wrong."  
"Interesting ..." Malduck swiveled her chair to face the screen again. "Marvin, please display your search results for us." The screen lit up on a scanned grey and yellowed photograph of a group in military uniform. "This was taken back before everything was electronic."  
"Thanks, I'm sure I could've figured that out." Drake muttered, his eyes busy tracing the people in the picture. He leaned forwards, scrutinizing the military line up. "That's my dad, third from the left."  
"Do you want to know ... that is, it won't surprise you as to why he left the military?"  
"It won't surprise me?"  
"He relieved his superior of command. He apparently got a prime case of 'I can't follow that order; it's wrong'."  
"He mutinied? Is that why it was classified?"  
"I can't begin to guess all the possible reasons as to why the government departments like to classify things." Malduck waved her hand dismissively.  
"One reason is to prevent mass hysteria." Drake reasoned. "Just think; if you vampires came out in the open ..."  
"But everyone does know about us, Drake. Most everyone knows what 'vampire' means. Most everyone knows how to stop a vampire should they be so driven to do it." Malduck leaned towards him across the table. "Think about it! People just choose to dismiss this information as fiction because we don't bother them. There's been no mass hysteria about vampires since I took over and as far as I am aware we are not classified."  
'... Except perhaps into the supernatural and or horror themes section of the local library.' Drake raised an eyebrow. "It's a pity the same can't be said about aliens."

"Well, there aren't any aliens in this story." Malduck pointed at the screen. "Marvin has managed to locate your father's legal testament for you. Drake Mallard served under platoon leader Storkein Harris."  
"He served with Curtis Mane too, of course." Drake looked at the younger picture of the recently deceased. "Do we know if he supported my father's decision to mutiny?"  
"Curtis Mane was a human rights activist for ... nearly as long as you've been alive, Drake. His speeches on civil rights were inspirational to countless people around the globe. Essentially he's spent his whole life supporting your father's decision." She paused, her voice turning softer. "That Mane will be sorely missed."

Drake was faced with well over thirty faces in the 473rd infantry platoon of the Calisota Corp.  
"How many of the company were reported to be in on this argument?"  
Malduck sat back, an unenthused look on her face. "That's the thing about wars, Drake. Most of them don't come back. As it turns out, there are only four people from the entire platoon that are still alive, and we know that must include the killer." She handed Drake some crisp A4 pages. "We've identified the remaining soldiers for you. Your father's statement is there and I've printed out the photograph so you can have a closer look."  
"Thank you." Drake appreciated, rather disappointed that it hadn't been him to have found this information, "I would've gotten it myself but Grizlykoff's interference has proved quite a setback."  
"I know that, Drake." Malduck told him. "You have nothing to prove here."

Drake sat back, somewhat mentally overturned by the sincere helpfulness of Malduck. "Thank you for the advice ... And for the lead."  
"Thank Marvin." The acting CEO waved her hand to the computer screen.  
"Uh ... thanks ... Marvin." Drake frowned, staring at the screen as the colour changed from white to blue.  
"You're welcome." The mechanical almost sexless voice said from the speakers in the roof. "If you'll excuse me, Malduck, there's a revolt in progress on space station B35 in universe ZGHT180/37 to which I have patched access and would like to give more attention to assist."  
"Sure. Good luck with that."  
The screen changed colour to black, before the company logo came up and covered the screen in pulsing red. It looked like a swirling capital H that could've been a capital B or even the number 13.

"So, who's on this list?"

* * *

Launchpad woke up suddenly and discovered his feet up on a desk. He looked around and after a couple blinks he remembered that this was the office of his small aircraft hanger on the edge of the city. "Huh? Why'd I wake up for?" He yawned and stretched in the chair.

The mobile phone rang again. "That'll be DW-" he looked at it "... yep."

Launchpad answered his phone. "Uh-hi, DW."  
"Are you alright, Launchpad?"  
Launchpad looked out the large office window at the peaceful aeroplanes in the hanger. "Sure." He yawned. "What's up, buddy?"  
"The murderer has a possible three targets left. Cameron Lott, Judge Peeking, and I'm close on the tail of the third one now. I need you to check out this address for me."

Launchpad wrote it down on the detective's notebook he kept in his pocket. "Ritzy."  
"You're looking for Preena String."  
"Hey, she's married to Ham; they're your old high school buddies-we met them a couple months ago!"  
"Yes. Preena's dad Cameron Lott may be the next target. I need you to find out where he is and keep him safe from our firebug murderer."  
"Sure thing, DW. I'll go 'round right now." Launchpad ended the call. He jumped out of his chair and straight into action.


	19. Encounters

**LOVE FOREVER AFTER**

* * *

**Encounters**

* * *

After phoning Launchpad to get his sidekick's help on the case, Darkwing Duck made his way to S.H.U.S.H. headquarters. It was rather an odd feeling as he headed there, knowing his secret identity was effectively hiding from them. Hiding from law enforcement was practically an admission of guilt ... Darkwing gulped as he approached the low-set sandstone building.

'But I'm not guilty!' Darkwing argued with the feeling. 'I just know what Grizlykoff's like ... first hand.' He closed his eyes, recalling the agents who'd been waiting outside the library for his ten year old daughter. Darkwing growled as he shoved his way past the swinging doors and the guards stationed there. 'If I didn't know that bear better, I'd think Grizlykoff was the one that killed Curtis Mane ... and my-many other people.' He stopped in front of Terri's desk. "Hello, Mrs Smith."  
She jumped in surprise. "Mr. Darkwing! You mustn't keep sneaking up on people in this office, you know. People around here do have firearms."  
"Pfft, I'm used to it." Darkwing shrugged dismissively. "I'm looking for some information and I figure there's no one better to ask than you."  
"What a coincidence, Mr. Darkwing. I have a question for you as well."  
"If I told people my secrets, I-well, I wouldn't ... be mysterious, you know, that counts for, well ... a lot; that's why."  
"Security is important. I may not be able to answer your question either for the exact same reason, Mr. Darkwing." She returned.  
"Touche. Um ... you wouldn't happen to know where Grizlykoff is, would you, Mrs Smith?"

"Oh. He's on leave. The director thought he was rather too stressed yesterday about the case you two were on and so-."  
"Then I'll go to his apartment. He's probably ... hibernating or something. Thanks, Mrs Smith."  
"Oh, you're welcome ... Mr. Darkwing?"

"Yes?"  
"Where did you learn how to sneak around so well?"  
He smiled over the counter at her; he'd have to tell her his whole life story in order to answer that question ... "How are your boys doing, Mrs Smith?"  
Her eyes opened widely at him. "You've gone through my desk!"  
"There's a photo of them right there beside your screen-."  
"-That's only visible from back here! So why were you going through my desk? What were you looking for?"  
Darkwing shook his head; the case of Ammonia Pine's abduction of director Hooter was long since resolved and had no bearing on the case he was on now. "Um, so how did someone as sharp as you get landed with a desk job, anyway?"  
"I appreciate your opinion, thank you. Now will you kindly stop misdirecting me and just go and save Agent Grizlykoff?"  
"Thanks." He sighed in relief of his reprive and tipped his hat to her before heading out.

* * *

When nobody answered the door at the String residence, Launchpad then tried the neighbours's doors and had more success. Between them he learned about the Strings' party and the emergency paramedic team that had carried one of the guests away. As far as anybody on the rest of the floor knew, Ham and Preena were still at the hospital.

Launchpad stepped through the doors of the emergency waiting room and looked around. 'Maybe try the corridor ...' He glanced through the window of the internal door; no, but he might get lucky and find Preena down some corridor. He moved over to the counter to talk to the receptionist. "Hi, Mrs McD."  
"Oh, if it isn't Mr. McQueue. You're going to have to fill out a form-."  
"Heh, no, I'm just looking for a visitor today, not a patient." He smiled at the woman.  
"Well ... alright, Mr. McQuack. But only because you asked so politely. Unlike that short friend of yours."  
"Oh, heh. DW's alright, he just has a lot on his mind and-."  
"Forgets how to behave properly? Well, don't you go causing any nonsense today, you hear?"  
"Yes, ma'am."  
"You can start by using the front door like a normal person!"  
"Uh, sure. I can do that. Thanks, Mrs McD."

* * *

A long five minutes of wending corridors Launchpad found Preena alone in the corridor. "Mrs Preena String? My name's Launchpad McQuack; I'm with S.H.U.S.H. investigating a case."  
She turned her head to him. "Yeah? What do you want?"  
"How is your dad doing?"  
"I don't know what you want me to tell you, McQuack; he's in surgery right now!" She gritted at him. "You public servants really pick lousy times to show up. Why don't you cut to the chase?"

"I'm sorry to have to bother you at a time like this but it is kinda important and it is about your dad ..."  
Preena glanced back at the doors in front of her before turning back to Launchpad. "So what?" She responded weakly.  
"Uh, so why'd your dad came back to St. Canard?"  
"Because he wanted to see me!" Preena cried out at Launchpad in the desolation of the hospital corridor. "This is all my fault. I should've looked after him better."  
"Nobody can predict what'll happen in the future ... otherwise it wouldn't be the future." Launchpad consoled her. "What brought it on, do you suppose?"  
"I'm a business woman, Mr. McQuack, not a doctor. All I can tell you is that I heard my father scream and by the time I got to him he was already on the floor."

"Did you maybe notice anything weird? Maybe like someone you didn't know at the party?"

Ham came from around the corner holding two coffees.

"Yes, actually there was someone, Mr. McQuack."  
'Uh-oh.' Launchpad felt a pit of doom in his stomach as Ham gave Preena one of the paper cups. 'I was hoping you weren't going to say that.'  
"That mutt, he certainly wasn't invited ..."  
"Now, honey, remember the resolution we made after the reunion?"  
Preena wrapped her arms tight around Ham's arm. "I mean; he was an old dog. Not really well off. He said he was going to call for the ambulance but instead he piked out on us; the scrawny freeloader! If I ever find out his name I'll sic my attorney onto him. I called the emergency line to see why the paramedics were taking so long and they said the call was never logged! Do you think that mutton had a beef with my father?"

"Uh, he's a suspect. We believe your father might've had a connection with him."  
"Why, I wouldn't know about any of that. I barely even know my father. He left when I was just a little girl."

The door beside them opened. "Mr. and Mrs. String?" The doctor quietly closed the door behind him, his surgical mask around his neck. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. String. We were too late to save your father. He's gone."

Preena erupted into tears and buried her face in Ham's sleeve.

* * *

A downhearted Launchpad walked out of the hospital and pressed speed dial on his cell phone.

"Uh, bad news, DW."  
"What's that, LP?"  
"Cameron Lott just died."  
"From a gunshot wound? Did you-."  
"No, DW; he had a heart attack. It happened late last night."  
"Was there any sign of our suspect at the time?"  
"Yep."  
"Oh, how convenient for him."  
"Preena said her dad screamed. DW, now, I know my first aid inside out and I know that's not a symptom of a heart attack."  
"I agree, LP, Cameron Lott must've died of fright."  
Launchpad gulped. "Gee. Remind me about that the next time Gosalyn gets the urge to tell us another ghost story."

"... By any chance did Preena mention her party crasher looked slightly unkempt?"  
"Um ... it was more the cut of his suit that she didn't like, DW."  
"Did she mention an aged appearance?"  
"Yeah, she said he was an elderly dog. You'd think-."  
"Bingo, LP! Our fire bug murderer's come out of the woodwork!"  
"You've found him, DW? Where ..." The line disconnected. "... Are you?"

"DW can handle it." Launchpad reassured himself. He briefly considered what would be the best use of his time. "Maybe I should check out the judge; just to be safe."


	20. Lost Memories

_A/N: Oh, look, I fixed it. And in the end all I had to actually do was change the starting viewpoint. Huzzah!_

* * *

LOVE FOREVER AFTER

* * *

**Part 20: Lost Memories**

* * *

Darkwing shadowed Grizlykoff, listening to their conversation as he and the scurvy looking elderly version of Storkein Harris headed down the streets back in the direction of Grizlykoff's apartment.

"How have you been, sir?"  
The dog snarled quietly. "Not well. Drake Mallard has been haunting me."  
"You must be kidding, sir!" Vladimir Grizlykoff said in shock. "Drake Mallard? I cannot get him out of my head either! His case has plague me since fire on Playhouse Avenue." Vladimir grimaced. "Who would kill such an uninteresting speck anyway? Bah, I see nothing memorable or important about him at all. How do you know this person?"  
The dog was somewhat taken aback by that. "Uh ... do you remember when the 473rd infantry platoon of the Calisota Corp was posted to Ducklehoff?"

Darkwing could see the telltale signs that Grizlykoff was obviously having trouble with his long term memories as the moment dragged on and the bear wracked his brains. "That ... was a long time ago ..." Somewhere a light flicked on in his head and Grizlykoff's face belied a flash of inspiration. "Uh, excuse me for a moment. I need to call my ... supervisor about something for work."

Darkwing watched the bear step a few paces away from Harris and pull out his mobile phone. "Director?" He said.  
_"Hello, Agent Grizlykoff. I hope you're taking my advice and using your time off as ... time off."_  
"I am, sir, but I am just remembering this. Drake Mallard was in my contingent at Ducklehoff."  
_"Goodness. You served with him in the 473rd infantry platoon?"_  
"Yes, I have ... jog of memory." Vladimir looked over at his old platoon leader.  
_"Well, thank you for reporting in with this information. But now, I must insist that you take a break, Vladimir. As impossible a task as it may prove, you really must try for your own health."_  
"Yes, sir."  
_"There's a good fellow. Good day, Agent Grizlykoff."_

Grizlykoff fell back in step with Harris and Darkwing felt a twinge of empathy for the bear, knowing what it was like to not remember such important things from his distant past. But then a surge of annoyance and frustration dispelled the feeling. If Grizlykoff had remembered then Cameron Lott would still be alive. In fact, Grizlykoff's bad memory of such a dramatic incident in his adult life was just darn peculiar. Darkwing would have to keep tabs on him and figure out exactly how bad Grizlykoff's memory was.

* * *

_Grizlykoff struggled to remember. Vague, it was so long ago. He'd lost his job over the incident. But then they all did. Vladimir was lucky when S.H.U.S.H. took one look at his exemplary service records and offered him a job. His part in the ... mutiny? Yes, it was a mutiny. It didn't make S.H.U.S.H. bat an eyelid and before the military court had even resolved the case, he'd been up to his eyeballs in S.H.U.S.H. cadet training and the associated paperwork._

_Twenty three years? No, it had been twenty seven. Vladimir was fresh out of school when he'd found a gun in his hands. He'd been young and impressionable in those days. Highly ambitious. When Mallard had upturned their captain's orders for that brief moment he'd had a very difficult decision on his hands. But ... what side had he chosen? He didn't recall._

* * *

Darkwing silently tailed Grizlykoff and his mystery friend all the way up to his apartment. It was pure coincidence that Grizlykoff had unwittingly stumbled on Storkein Harris first. At any rate Darkwing now had his killer in sight. The choreography of Harris' movements was a perfect psychological match with other murderers he'd tailed. Also, he might've had twenty seven years on him, but this was definitely Storkein Harris. Darkwing was finally going to make a stand against the firebug murderer.

In shadow form Darkwing slipped under Grizlykoff's front door. "I am the terror that flaps in the night."

* * *

"Darkwing Duck?" Grizlykoff asked in confusion. "Why are you here? Do you not heard of knock on door?"

"I am the ghost of Christmas present! I am Darkwing Duck!"

The short caped mallard appeared to the side of the two.

"It's you!" Harris yipped in shock. Grizlykoff noticed the colour drain out of his old platoon leader's face. Grizlykoff's brain was spinning. This was one person who had motive: Mane had agreed with Mallard when he'd taken over the platoon and Harris was not one to forgive. And he'd invited the cold blooded murderer into his own home! What a fool had he been? Grizlykoff snatched his own gun from the drawer in his hall stand and flicked off the safety catch.

"I killed you twenty years ago and I can kill you again!" Harris pulled out his gun and Grizlykoff fired before the other could trigger his weapon at Darkwing.

Grizlykoff watched the criminal collapse now harmless onto the floor, registering what Harris had actually said. The only person haunting Harris was Drake Mallard, so what had he meant by 'it's you?' Grizlykoff looked around his apartment in alarm. "Darkwing? Darkwing ... Mallard?"

But the avian was gone.

"Mallard? Drake Mallard ..." Grizlykoff stood there in shock for another long moment as the ring of the gunshot faded from his ears. Then Grizlykoff finally collected himself together and crossed the room, refusing to look at the pooling blood on his living room rug. "Telephone I need." He crossed over to the kitchen and picked up the receiver and dialed for emergency services to pick up Storkein Harris.  
_"Is he breathing?"_  
Grizlykoff stared blankly at his kitchen cupboards.  
_"Sir, is he breathing?"_  
Grizlykoff suddenly realised he'd been asked a question. "I know my job. You do not need to hurry."


	21. Freudian Slip

**Freudian Slip**

* * *

Drake Mallard Junior and his adoptive daughter had disappeared from Agent Grizlykoff's surveillance radar with none other than Darkwing Duck's assistance. How his independent operative had done it without using a vehicle was fascinating. But in short there was no way to trace the prime suspect unless S.H.U.S.H. traced Darkwing Duck.

Director J Gander Hooter grinned in guilty pleasure for a moment with this mystery as he sat in his office. Before accepting the director position at the St Canard division of S.H.U.S.H. he'd been a detective himself, engaged in unravelling international intrigue. He missed that push, the urgency, and the hard core analysis. It was only for people like Doctor Sara Bellum and Darkwing Duck that allowed him to visit that world again.

Hooter was intrigued by this 'house of cards' as Grizlykoff had put it. Darkwing Duck was certainly convinced that Mallard wasn't guilty in order to have hidden him away like this. He never treated someone suspicious this way. What had Darkwing seen that Hooter had missed?  
So a house of cards, whoever Drake Mallard was.

Hooter spread out the duplicate files across his table. The son's duplicate file was now three times thicker with surveillance reports and conversations since giving the original to Darkwing. Those conversations. Hooter picked up Drake Mallard Junior's wad of paper again and skimmed through it. The boy wasn't academic so he didn't have a lot of options open to him when it came to a career.  
Young Drake Mallard was a security guard, plain and simple. Grizlykoff's description of this job was 'contract service' and the boy had taken on the job at Hamil Corp to help his existing income flow.

Well, now ... Hooter rethought. That sounded like a diversionary tactic! Actually, the whole thing sounded like too much of a coincidence. Had Mallard realised S.H.U.S.H. was looking at him already? Why would he need another job to deflect an inquiry?

"What does a job do?" Hooter asked the empty room. There was money. But there was also 'identity' in that equation. There were two questions that got asked. "Do you have a job? What do you do for a living?" Hooter then answered his question with the information on the table. "Contract service security guard." It sounded very odd when he said it out loud. Security guards were hired from security companies; there were no independent contractors per sec...

"Independent?" Hooter jumped up from his chair, clasping his hands to his beak. That word was very familiar to him since that was the term he used to have Darkwing Duck on S.H.U.S.H. payroll. Of course there were no independent contract security guards. On the other hand Darkwing Duck was on an independent contract with S.H.U.S.H. and while it was a massive downplay on his versatility and expertise to call Darkwing a 'guard', one could place him in the loose definition of 'security'...

Hooter sat down at his desk, taking this astonishing idea and playing with it. He handed Darkwing bearer cheques, so nobody could know the bank account name. Hooter wasn't about to trace bank accounts without a warrant and especially not on an innocent person, so he put that line of inquiry aside as a last resort. He looked down at the folders, putting father and son side by side, now comparing them both to Darkwing Duck.

After Grizlykoff's phone call just earlier, Hooter now knew that Senior was in the army for a brief time before he headed an insurgence on ethical grounds against his platoon leader Storkein Harris. The father had followed rules up to that point. Junior had had an obsession with rules. It was only about a month since the last time Darkwing Duck picked someone up for a parking metre violation.

Junior had disappeared straight after school. Quite possibly he'd gone overseas to study to be a crime fighter; Hooter knew Darkwing's eclectic range of skills could only be the result of years of training under different instructors from across the globe. Aerobatics, Quack Fu and base jumping were only to name a very few. So then Darkwing Duck made the scene and finally accepted the offer for a contract. It was only a short time later that Drake Mallard returned to St Canard and the first thing he'd done was adopt Gosalyn Waddlemire ...

"Oh." Hooter pulled out a picture of the ten year old and recalled her as the very same child whom Darkwing had rescued from Taurus Bulba. "All things considered this is rather too much of a coincidence."

Darkwing had been very stubborn against joining S.H.U.S.H. before meeting Gosalyn. If before he might be living on the interest off his inheritance, with a daughter in tow he no longer could. Why, he'd probably put all that was left of his inheritance into that house.

The intercom bleeped.  
"Sir?"  
"Yes, Terri?"  
"I have a phone call on line ten for you from the mayor's office."

* * *

Next door from the courthouse was the police department. It was always bustling as Attorney Rex Euston found the station co-head at interview room three. "So, what's the big problem, Irv?" Euston raised an eyebrow.  
"He's S.H.U.S.H., Rex."  
"What difference does this make?"  
"It means if we put this guy in the other inmates will eat him alive."  
"If he's guilty he belongs-."  
"Yeah, but he's S.H.U.S.H., Rex. This is serious. I don't want to put him in. Okay, sure if he really is, but if he's not guilty then it could unravel every case he's ever touched and that would be-."  
"Alright! I hate it when you panic, Irving. I'll talk to him."

Euston twisted the knob on the observation room door and went in.

Attorney Rex Euston flicked on the recorder unit. "State your name for the record."  
"Agent Vladimir Goudenov Grizlykoff." The bear said emptily.  
"Do you know why you are in here?"  
"I shot him through the heart." He answered in a lost voice.  
"Who did you shoot?"  
"Storkein Harris." Grizlykoff sighed. "Calisota Corps. 473rd infantry platoon leader."  
"Can you explain to me why you did it?"  
"He said he had killed him, and he would kill again; kill Darkwing Duck. He pull out his weapon. If he has killed, he would kill again, and he pull out his weapon as yes correct."  
Euston frowned for a moment. The S.H.U.S.H. agent's English had clearly deteriorated from the emotional flaying he'd clearly suffered. If not that Grizlykoff's aim had met such a precise target, Euston would have been happy to go for manslaughter at this point. "Are you saying Storkein Harris was going to kill Darkwing Duck?"  
"Yes, he ... that's why he pull out weapon, he say this: 'I kill you again'. It was Darkwing Duck he speaking to." Grizlykoff put his head in his hands on the table. "Ach. This impossible. I do not blame you not believe me. But this, my understand, I acted on."  
"Okay, agent. Steady on." Euston flicked off the recorder.  
"Sir, how could he kill Darkwing Duck before? What is he to survive one death?"  
"Of course he didn't, agent." Euston reassured him. "Obviously Storkein Harris' deranged mind imagined Darkwing Duck as someone familiar. That often happens when a killer turns into a serial killer. They string their paper hearts together to form their line of reasoning although it never holds up to water. You know that just as well as I do. He saw what he wanted to see." Euston sighed and stood up.  
"You don't believe me, sir, do you? I would not believe such flimsy story as true."

Rex Euston reluctantly shook his head. "You're obviously in shock from what has happened earlier."  
"But I am not imagining Darkwing Duck." Grizlykoff made a final insistence. "He was there in my living room and Harris was to kill him."  
"Darkwing Duck was nowhere at the scene, Grizlykoff!" Euston gritted in frustration. "If there was a gunshot, he would've stayed! Don't you think he'd have stayed?"  
"I do not understand either, sir!" Grizlykoff moaned and slumped back in the chair. "I see this Duck. Is too real to be dream. Perhaps I go crazy. What I am seeing? Is this same ghost?"

Euston watched Grizlykoff for a long moment. "I'll talk to Director Hooter. We'll see what he can come up with."  
"Harris saw his ghost return. He was certain and he was his killer. Darkwing Duck was ghost he saw."

Rex Euston walked out, closing the door behind him.  
"So, what do 'you' think, Rex?" Irving asked him.  
"Has he been babbling about ghosts the whole time?" Euston asked in concern.  
Irving looked into the one way window. "Rex, Storkein Harris might still have let off a shot if he'd just been wounded. He was a soldier."  
"I agree with the line of reasoning except for the one sublime fact that doesn't fit the argument, Irving. There was no Darkwing Duck."

* * *

Hooter put down the phone privately riled by his short conversation with the mayor. "Disgraceful."

He returned to the more enjoyable task of solving Darkwing Duck.

In the beginning before he'd signed the independent contract service papers, Hooter had tested the youth. It hadn't taken Darkwing Duck much effort to solve the cases while sitting, bound to the wheelchair as he had been. The boy had very narrowly escaped from that ripping explosion. Hooter asked how, and it was at that point that Darkwing had showed him that fascinating gas gun of his. From this moment, Hooter realised inducting Darkwing fully into the ranks of S.H.U.S.H. was far beyond the boy's comfort zone. Darkwing was a maverick and his need for independence was beyond reasoning with. Hooter had decided to provide the favour of confidentiality and resisted his urge to match up hospital records and find out what name he was going in under. And it was just to see that gas gun. It was ingenious and unique.

The gas gun? Indeed! Hooter was delighted at this new connection as he pulled out the autopsy report on Drake Mallard Senior. Darkwing Duck didn't like guns. Here was a very good reason why. Instead of Grizlykoff's idea of copying the crime, apparently Drake Mallard had done the exact opposite.

But still here, there was no preoccupation with an old unsolved case as one might expect. Drake must have simply spent all that time before becoming a vigilante to studying ... entirely believable, consider his portfolio of tricks and aerobatic skills. Hooter picked up the rejection letter. " 'All the kings and horses.' " He repeated Darkwing's early comment. "No, that's not quite right ..." He searched his memory. It had been a long time since he'd heard the children's poem. The nursery rhyme ... what was the next bit?"

"Maybe I should do better and just ask someone."

* * *

The phone rang, distracting him from his triumph. Hooter pressed the button. "Yes, Terri?"  
"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Attorney Rex Euston is on line two for you. He says it's urgent."  
"Oh, certainly." He pressed the button.  
"J Gander Hooter."  
"Mr. Attorney Euston, sir."  
"I'll be truly amazed if you can get your boy out of this one."  
"Who?" Hooter asked in concern; "Darkwing Duck?"  
"No. I thought you said you pulled Grizlykoff off the Firebug Murderer case?"  
"I did, sir."  
"Well, somehow I don't think he quite got the message. You'd better come over here to my office."  
"Sir?"  
"Irving's really nervous about the idea of putting him in a cell with the regular chainsaw wielding maniacs. Personally I'm leaning more towards a cell of the padded variety. Since he's your officer, I thought I'd pay you the courtesy and discuss the matter with you first. I'd like to discuss this with you in person at my office."

Hooter stood straight up. His feathers were prickling. "I'll be there immediately, sir."

* * *

Hooter stopped at Terri's desk, remembering her psychology degree and her young boys. "Terri, I have a puzzle for you. Do you remember the nursery rhyme that goes ' "All the kings and horses'?"  
"Yes, sir. 'Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall and all the kings' horses and all the kings men, couldn't put Humpty together again'."  
"You have a psychology background, Terri. What does that all mean, exactly?"  
"It basically outlines the principle that some things in life can never be repaired and despite all our best efforts, sometimes we just have to accept the damage that has happened and live with the consequences of it. Not all stories end in 'and they all lived happily ever after'."  
"That seems the pinnacle of disenchantment for a four year old."  
"Reality is often a dark place, sir. The poem helps teach the child to take it in their stride. What we learn from Humpty is that after tragedy the inevitable is that the tragic poem ends and we carry on with our own lives."

"A Freudian Slip." Hooter blinked unseeing at her. "I thought it was an odd statement for Darkwing to make."  
"Were you going somewhere, sir?" Terri gently alerted him to the real world.  
"Huh? Oh, yes. Unfortunately, yes, I am. I'll be at the courthouse."

* * *

_(While we're on the subject of eggs here's an ancient and silly little poem I don't want to lose:)_

_Title Unknown [two eggs being romantic whilst sitting in a dessert spoon]_

_"Oh, spooning in a spoon!_  
_We don't need a moon!_  
_Poached or fried or on the side_  
_Morning, night or noon!_  
_Scrambled in a tune,_  
_Devilled with a croon!_  
_In a cup, you're sunny side up,_  
_Spooning in a spoon!"_

_by Carl W. Stalling_


	22. All the Kings

**All the Kings**

* * *

Darkwing was quaking in the wide wooden corridor as he stood beside his friend, still waiting to see the judge.

"I ... I don't believe it. I mean, I ..."  
"DW, you knew Grizlykoff was after you."

"No, he was after Drake Mallard. He just hated Darkwing Duck. He wasn't after Darkwing Duck. Besides which, he'd never figure the connection on his own. Anyway, I'm not talking about Grizlykoff. I'm talking about Director J Gander Hooter."  
"Uh ... huh?"  
"J Gander Hooter figured it out and told him. He ... told ... Grizlykoff!" Darkwing tugged on the brim of his Fedora hat. He could barely contain his feeling of betrayal and horror.

* * *

The door to their side cracked open and a short grey rat in a pinafore dress that did nothing to add to her narrow figure addressed him. "Darkwing Duck?"  
"Yes?" He turned, emptying his mind of his personal feelings in the face of his work.  
"Judge Pekking will see you now."

"About time."

Darkwing burst through the door. Anything would help to get his mind off this betrayal.

"Judge Pekking." He tipped his hat.  
"Hello, Darkwing Duck?" The judge looked suspicious at Darkwing. But then everyone had that expression for him when it came to the law enforcement officials and so he continued on.  
"This is very important for your personal safety. Were you in a soldier contingent to Ducklehoff about twenty seven years ago?"  
"Actually, yes I was." The judge looked at him in surprise.  
"Do you remember an incident on the field?"  
"Hmm ... you're stretching my memory on that one. Let me think ..."  
"It's very important, sir. Three people are already intentionally murdered and there are nineteen other victims as collateral to the damage."  
"So many?"  
"Well, okay, technically one of them was a heart attack but all the others stand for the charges."  
"Okay, who are you charging?"  
"I haven't had the chance to nab him yet, but I really must press your memory, sir."  
"I don't even remember any names." He hesitated, "except for poor Rolf." He frowned, averting his eyes. "Ahem."

"There are only three of you left now, sir. What side of the argument were you on?"  
Pekking looked up at Darkwing. "Ah. You mean the mutiny?"  
Darkwing nodded. "Yes, sir!" Darkwing gesticulated. "Please, time is if the essence."  
"Oh, sorry. Well, I was on Harris's side. Of course it didn't really matter who was leading us while we all were up to our eyeballs in it." Pekking mused, thinking back. "Mallard; that was his name. In the middle of a war ... it was unbelievable." He shook his head.

"Our position was compromised. We were running from the enemy. It just wasn't appropriate to question orders. I mean, we were all up to our eyeballs in it ..."  
"Okay, thank you, sir. From what you tell me I don't think you're in immediate danger."  
"I hope you catch him, Darkwing. Eighteen people and a heart attack. This maniac needs to be stopped."  
"Don't worry; I will stop him, sir." Darkwing smiled grimly. "It'll be really good to watch Euston throw the book at this one."

* * *

Hooter opened the door of the Attorney's office and took a breath in the hallway.

Euston followed him out of the room. "I'm sorry, J. He shouldn't have even had a gun on him. Not in his emotionally compromised state. And I still question his sanity."  
"Euston, my agents are prime targets from multiple enemy's agents. F.O.W.L., Hiroshena smugglers, Oringkski mobsters ... My point is that to deprive Agent Grizlykoff of a weapon is much like forcing him to play Russian roulette." Hooter looked away from the lawyer as a door up the hallway opened and closed.

Hooter watched Darkwing Duck step out of Judge Pekking's office followed by his flight suited assistant.  
"DW, how do you figure that Pekking's not in any danger? He was in the contingent after all."  
"Because, LP. Curtis Mane died only when he returned to St Canard. Mr Lott only returned to St Canard to visit his estranged daughter. But here sits Pekking for years and years in plain view of all St Canard residents. It only makes sense for him to be on Harris's side of the argument."

Knowing Darkwing Duck's secret identity just made the caped avian that much more tangible and knowing about his daughter made Hooter feel that much more respect for his contract operative. Hooter cleared his throat.  
"Darkwing Duck?"  
"Director Hooter." Darkwing replied stonily. His eyes moved on past Hooter to Rex Euston standing behind him. "Mr. Attorney Euston what a coincidence."  
"Indeed." Euston spoke up. It's very good that you're here, in fact. We have a statement by Grizlykoff on an altercation that happened about an hour ago. He states that you were in his apartment."

"Yes, sir, that would be correct."  
"He claims that Storkein Harris pulled a gun on you."  
"Sure. He did." Darkwing shrugged, nonchalantly. "I have that effect on a lot of criminals who carry fire arms. It's part of my job. I naturally expect it."  
Hooter hesitated. "You left the scene. Why?"  
Darkwing blinked at Hooter for a moment, as though he were shocked that Hooter didn't understand why. "Discretion is the better part of valour." Darkwing answered, self-consciously brushing off invisible flecks of dirt from his black and grey outfit. "The fact of the matter was that Grizlykoff had also reached for his gun. He's not exactly incompetent with his aim and having considered all such things like two guns pointing at me from different directions from no less than two ex-military officials, I decided a tactical retreat was in order."

"But don't worry, Mr. Attorney." Darkwing's voice resumed an energetic tone. "I'll catch Harris. All his original targets are dead so he's not a real threat to society anymore. And now he knows that Darkwing Duck is after him and I've already found him once so my job is half done. It's just a matter of time now."  
Hooter blanched before turning. Darkwing was acting as if he didn't know anything about Harris's demise. "Uh, Mr. Attorney?"  
"Yeah, I heard, J. I'll sort out the paperwork on this end and have him released."  
"Who? You've got Harris? Why are you releasing him?" It was a very convincing act.  
"No! Calm down, Darkwing. No one's going to release Storkein Harris. He's not going anywhere." Hooter reassured him.

"Gee, who caught him in the end?" Launchpad asked.  
"It doesn't matter, Launchpad." Darkwing's voice took a strangely sullen tone. "They were too late to save Mrs. String's father. I hope you give Harris a long jail time, Mr. Attorney. He has his victory. He certainly doesn't deserve his freedom."

Darkwing suppressed a yawn. "Come on, Launchpad, there's no reason to hang around here anymore." He nodded to Hooter. "I'll lodge my reports tomorrow night, sir." Then the crime fighter turned back to Launchpad. "Come on, LP, there's plenty more criminals out there that need to be stopped ... but for right now, we should use our time to our best advantage and get some much needed rest." He took Launchpad's arm and with a fling of his cape, they disappeared.

"Whoa." Euston murmured, "I didn't guess that one."  
"Oh, he always does that." Hooter faced St Canard's recently appointed State Attorney. "It doesn't make sense." Hooter confessed with a sigh. "He would've heard the shot; Darkwing should have gone back to the apartment to manage the situation." Hooter sighed. "I don't understand why Darkwing would lie like that. I guess we'll have to-."  
"I believe him, J." Euston put his hand on Hooter's shoulder. "Grizlykoff shot Harris because he thought Darkwing Duck's life was in danger. Darkwing confirms that he was there, and that Harris was intending to fire on him. That clears your boy. Case closed. Forensics will show that Harris's fingerprints are the only ones on his weapon. Ballistics will come up positive for your Firebug Murderer and we'll get to bury someone who we can confidently say killed nineteen people including the unfortunate Mr. Lott."  
Hooter looked at him in confusion. "But ..."  
"Go on, go pick up your agent, J."  
Hooter looked up at Euston feeling incredibly grateful, deciding it must be Euston's goodwill letting Grizlykoff off on such a shoestring explanation. "He is a good agent, Rex. Both of them. Thank you, I truly owe you one."  
"Uh, just ... This is just as a purely subjective observation, J." He put his hand on Hooter's shoulder. "But there seems a lot of misunderstanding between these two agents of yours. I don't know how far back it all goes but if something isn't done about bridging that gap, one of them could end up falling into it." Euston stepped back. "I'll sort out the paperwork from this end and email a PDF copy to you."  
"Uh, thanks." Hooter hesitated. "If you send it to Terri, she'll know what to do with a PDF email."  
Euston laughed and shook his head. "Okay, Terri it is. Oh, and definitely keep your eye on those Oringkski."

As Attorney Rex Euston's door closed behind him, Hooter hurried off to pick up Grizlykoff.


End file.
